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'■ God hath Treasuries aneath the Throne, the Keys
whereof are the Tongues of the Poets.'

H a d i s - i S h e r i f.

HISTORY

OTTOMAN POETRY

E. J. W. GIBB, M. R. A.S.

VOLUME I

LONDON
LUZAC & CO., GREAT RUSSELL STREET

1900

^>^

'uL27 1S65

TV 0"^ TO^^t^^

994016

PRINTED BY E. J. BRILL. LEYDEN.

PREFACE.

The History of Ottoman Literature has yet to be written.
So far no serious work has been published, whether in Turkish
or in any foreign language, that attempts to give a compre-
hensive view of the whole field. Such books as have appeared
up till now deal, like the present, with one side only, namely,
Poetry. The reason why Ottoman prose has been thus
neglected lies probably in the fact that until within the last
half-century nearly all Turkish writing that was wholly or
mainly literary or artistic in intention took the form of verse.
Prose was as a rule reserved for practical and utilitarian
purposes. Moreover, those few prose works that were artistic
in aim, such as the Humayiin-Name and the later Khamsa-i
Nergisi, were invariably elaborated upon the lines that at
the time prevailed in poetry. Such works were of course
not in metre; but this apart, their authors sought the same
ends as did the poets, and sought to attain these by the
same means. The merits and demerits of such writings there-
fore are practically the same as those of the contemporary
poetry. The History of Ottoman Poetry is thus nearly equi-
valent to the History of Ottoman Literature. All the same,
an account of the work dune b)' the Ottomans in prose ought
to be available; and to supply such an account is among
the hopes of the present writer.

Within recent years there have appeared in Turkish a
few monographs dealing with individual poets, also some

newspaper and magazine articles which survey briefly and
without detail the whole field of literature. These, though
often valuable and suggestive, are of necessity quite inadequate.
The only serious attempt yet made at the systematic study
of any branch of this literature is that made more than half
a century ago by Baron von Hammer-Purgstall in his well-
known 'History of the Ottoman Poetic Art.' • But the monu-
mental work so called hardly answers to its name; it is less
a history of Ottoman poetry than a dictionary of Ottoman
poets. There exist in Turkish a number of works called
Tezkires, that is, 'Memoirs of the Poets,' which give the
lives of poets who flourished at certain periods, together
with specimens of their work. Von Hammer's great book
is not much more than a translation of these Tezkires, with
the entries arranged in approximate chronological order.
He makes but little attempt to trace the development of
the poetry, to point out the various forces by which it has
been affected, or to distinguish the relative positions of even
the greatest poets, whether as regards the merit of their
actual achievement, the nature of their indebtedness to their
predecessors, or the measure of the influence they exerted
over their contemporaries and successors.

The work therefore can scarcely be correctly described
as a History. None the less, notwithstanding numerous errors,
many of them almost inevitable in a first attempt, it is of
the greatest value as a book of reference. If evidence of the
critical faculty be somewhat to seek, we find on the other
hand almost every detail that can be gleaned from the Tez-
kires and other Turkish authorities. Every poet, every versifier,
of whom Von Hammer could find any mention, however
slight, is entered in his pages. Thus although the last of

' 'Geschichte dcr Osmanischcn Dichtkunst,' liy Hammer-Purgstall, 4 vols.,
Pcsth, 1836-8.

Vll

his four volumes was published as lon«^ ago as 1838, he has
two thousand two hundred entries, each dealing with a
different poet. ' His book is therefore likely to remain for
many a year to come, what it has been since the day of
its publication, the sheet-anchor of all whose pursuits lead
them to the study of Ottoman literature.

In the present work no attempt is made to rival Von
Hammer; my object is to supplement his labours, not to
supersede them. In order to do the latter, not a History of
Ottoman Poetry, but a more accurate and more complete
Biographical Dictionary of the Ottoman Poets, would be
required. The student who possesses this work will not be
able to dispense with Von Hammer's; of the latter 's two
thousand two hundred poets, probably barely a tenth will
appear in these pages. My object is rather to bring into
prominence that aspect of the subject which has been left
comparatively unnoticed by my talented and industrious
precursor; I have endeavoured to trace the successive phases
through which Ottoman poetry has passed, to discover the
influences which have brought these about, and in this way
to present as it were a panorama of the rise and progress
of this poetry.

My chief purpose, however, in writing this book is not
to supply Orientalists with a sketch of the development of
Ottoman poetry, but to place within reach of English readers
some account of a literature which has as yet been hartlly
touched upon by any writer in our language. Concerning
the Arabic and Persian literatures a certain amount is now
known; but regarding that of Turkey there is still blank
ignorance, an ignorance which not unfrccpiently leads to the
somewhat inconsequent conclusion that 'the Turks have no

' In a very few instances the same poet has been entered more than once,
owing to some confusion in the authorities.

Vlll

literature.' As it is my hope and my endeavour to do some-
thing towards removing this ignorance, I have addressed
myself in the first place to the average English reader who
is wholly innocent of any Oriental learning. I have therefore
explained many things, in the notes and elsewhere, which,
had I been writing exclusively for scholars, I should have
left unnoticed, as being perfectly familiar to everyone
interested in any Muhammedan literature.

Of the many difficulties which beset the path of one who
undertakes a work like the present, not the least is that
of procuring the necessary materials. These for the most
part still remain in manuscript; and to get together all the
books it would be desirable to have, is a practically impos-
sible task. And so, although after several years of search I
have succeeded in forming a collection which, when supple-
mented by the volumes bearing on the subject preserved in
the British Museum, has placed within my reach nearly all
the more necessary of such books, there still remains a
number which I have been unable to consult, and access to
which would have allowed me to make my work somewhat
more complete.

The scheme of this History is in Six Books, the first of
which is Introductory, while each of the others deals with
one of the Five Periods into which I have divided the story
of Ottoman poetry. Of these Six Books, the First and Second
are contained in the present Volume. ^

In order to assist the reader in realising, so far as this is
possible without a knowledge of the language, what Ottoman

1 A list of tlic works consulted in the preparation of the History, together
with indices to the notes, etc., will be printed in the final volume.

On the completion of the History I hope to issue a supplementary volume
containing the texts of all the poems translated in the work. In the meantime
the first line of the text of every translated passage will be found in an
Appendix to the volume in which the translation occurs.

poetry is actually like, I have in most cases supplemented
the account of a poet's works by one or more translated
extracts. The end I IkuI in \ iew would not have been attained
by a prose translation, or even by a versified renderin<^ of
the usual sort from which every trace of the external form
of the original has vanished. That end was to be attained
only by a translation in which this form should be reproduced.
Moreover, such reproduction is, in my opinion, one of the
essentials of a satisfactory translation. As the late Mr. J. A.
Symonds most truly says, ' a good translation should resemble
a plaster-cast, the English being plaque upon the original,
so as to reproduce its exact form, although it cannot convey
the effects of bronze or marble which belong to the material
of the work of art.' » The principle thus laid down is prac-
tically the same as that enunciated and observed with signal
success by Mr. John Payne in his admirable and scholarly
translations of The Thousand and One Nights and the
Quatrains of ^Omar-i Khayyam. Applied to the translation
of Oriental poetry, it involves the preservation of the exterior
form of the verse by following the movement of the rhyme,
retaining, when possible, the identity in number of the syl-
lables in each line, and suggesting the rhythm by the fall
of the accent. These then are the practical rules by which
I have been guided so far as the form of the translations
is concerned. But while I have been thus respectful of the
external structure, I have not allowed my care for this to
prejudice the sense of the poem. I have throughout striven
to be as literal as possible, omitting nothing of importance,
and carefully guarding against the introduction of metaphors
or similes for which the original gives no warrant. In this
way I hope to have succeeded in presenting in these trans-

' Wine, Women, and Song,' p. 38.

lations a series of photographs of Ottoman poetry, and it
is only as such that I offer them to the reader's notice.

The critic who seeks to appraise the Hterary works of a
foreign people will do well to bear in mind his own inevitable
limitations. However learned he may be, and however scholarly
the knowledge he may possess of the language in question,
he must yet in some respects stand at a disadvantage beside
the native school-child. A word or a phrase often suggests,
over and above its dictionary-meaning, a world of associations
instinctively perceived by every native, but which for the
foreigner have no existence. And it is not unfrequently in
the happy employment of such suggestive word or phrase
that the chief merit of a literary passage lies. But while
points such as this, or more subtle still, constitute something
of the charm of literature in all languages, and should, if
duly considered, tend everywhere to give the foreign critic
pause, Ottoman poetry, owing to the extreme artificiality
which characterised it till within the last few decades, con-
tains a far less proportion than is usual of this intimate
quality. For this poetry is so hedged in on every side by
hard and fast rules, that there would almost seem to have
been a deliberate conspiracy to block every avenue against
spontaneity and individuality. The success of a poet was
held to be determined in no small measure by the skill he
displayed in dancing among many glasses without over-
turning any one of them. And here at any rate the foreign
critic stands on an equal footing with the Ottoman. The
rules of the game can be learned equally well by anyone,
Turk or foreigner, who chooses to take the necessary trovible;
and once they are mastered, it is easy enough to see whether
they have been observed.

Still this is only one side of the matter; there is another
and far more vital : did those poets, with all their verbal

jugglery and intellectual gymnastic, give true and adequate
expression to the spirit of their world ? The answer to this
question is the verdict of their success or failure. And surely
those for whom they wrote, those who lived in the same
world and breathed the same moral and intellectual atmo-
sphere, are the best qualified to give this answer. 1 have there-
fore, whenever these have been obtainable, given prominence
to the opinions of the Ottoman critics on the Ottoman poets,
more especially when poet and critic have been contemporary
or nearly so. At the same time I have not refrained from
expressing my own views, even when these are at variance
with the opinions of the Turkish authorities. In such cases
the reader must not take my conclusions as advanced with
any pretension to finality; they are presented, as indeed are
all the critical observations I have ventured to make, simply
as the impressions of a foreign student who has tried to
understand the works of the Ottoman poets and to enter
into sympathy with them.

It remains for me gratefully to acknowledge the assistance
I have received in my work. I here tender my sincere thanks
to all who have in any way helped me, more especially
to my friends Cherkesh-Sheykhi-zade Khalil Khalid Efcndi
and Professor Muhammed Barakat-ullah, the latter (^f whom
has with the utmost kindness placed at my disposal the stores
of his great erudition.

E. J. \V. GlUH.

15, Chepstow Villas, London, VV.
Alay, 1 900.

ON THE PRONUNCIATION OF THE OTTOMAN
NAMES AND WORDS.

As the present work is addressed in the first place to the general reader,
no attempt has been made, when transliterating Oriental names and words,
to distinguish between the several homophonous letters of the Ottoman alphabet.
A definite system of transliteration has, however, been observed 5 and attention
to the following remarks will ensure an approximately correct pronunciation.

The Ottoman vowel-system is liit^hly elaborate; but hero it will l)e suf-
ficient to note : —

a is to be pronounced as a in ^far,' but rather shorter.

e„„„ „ „eiu '■met.' (e at the end of a word must always

be fully sounded: thus name, zade, tezkire,
are to be pronounced as if written n.d-meh,
za-deh, tez-ki-reh.)

i ^ _ _ _ „ i in 'pin.' (In some cases it is pronounced as i

in 'bird;' this has not been distinguished
in the transliteration. When i occurs in a
syllable preceded by one containing o or u,
it is pronounced as u: tlius the name of the
town Boli is pronounced liolu.)

u „ „ „ „ „ u in ' rule.' (In uiauy ca.scs u is prououiiced like

the French u in 'tu' or '■du;' this has not
been distinguished. Occasionally it is sounded
like the F" reach eu in 'deux,' or the German
o. In the more important cases this last pro-
nunciation has been represented by 6 in the
transliteration.)

a, 1, u, occur only in .Vrabic or Persian words; in these languages they
stand for the long sounds corresponding to the short a, i, u : in

XIV

Tuikish Uiere are properly uo long vowels, but the presence of
a, i or li causes the syllable in which it occurs to receive a stress
or accent, i has generally the sound of i in ' machine.'

ay is to be pronounced as ay in 'ay' or 'aye' meaning 'yes,' i.e. as 'I.'

ey „ „ „ „ „ ey in 'they.'

The consonants are to be pronounced as in English, subject to the following
notes: —

ch as ch in 'church.'

g is always hard as in 'get,' 'give,' never soft as in 'gem,' 'gin.' (When

g is followed by a, a slight y sound is introduced between them, just

as when a Cockney says 'gyarden' instead of 'garden:' thus the name

Nigar is pronounced as if written Nigyar. When g follows a vowel it

has a tendency to melt away into a y; thus the title written Beg is

pronounced Bey.)

gh is pronounced as gh in 'ghastly' or 'ghost.' (When gh follows avowal

it has a tendency to melt away into a sort of w, much as in our words

'through' and 'throughout:' thus oghli is pronounced like o-lu.)

h must always be fully pronounced whether it occurs at the beginning, in

the middle or at the end of a word,
k (When k is followed by a, a slight y sound is introduced between them,
exactly as in the case of g and a : thus the word Katib is pronounced
Kyatib.)
kh had originally the sound of ch in the Scotch ' loch ' or the Gei^man
'Nacht;' but nowadays it is pronounced like a simple h: thus khan,
khanim, Sheykhi, tari'kh, are pronounced as though written han, hanim,
Sheyhi, tarih.
n had formerly a nasal sound, but is now generally pronounced as a simple n.
q is pronounced exactly like k : thus qasida, Baqi, ''Ashiq, are pronounced

as if written kasida, Baki, ^Ashik.
s is always sharp as in 'mouse,' never flat as in 'reason.'
sh is the English sh in ' shall,' ' rash,' and so on.

'^ represents the Arabic letter "^Ayn ; in Turkish, when this occurs in the
middle of a word, its presence is indicated by a slight hiatus or catch
in the breath; when it occurs at the beginning of a word, it is entirely
ignored in pronunciation : thus Reff i and ''Ashiq are pronounced Refi-i
and Ashik.
indicates that a letter is omitted ; when this occurs between two vowels,

it also has the value of a slight hiatus, as in the name ^Atd^i pronoun-
ced Atd-i.

Wlien a letter is doubled in writing it is also doubled in pronouncing;
thus the word mukhammes is pronounced niu-ham-racs, each m receiving its
value, as in our compound, '• home-made.'

Accentuation is less strongly marked than in English; but as a general
rule the last syllable of a word receives a certain stress, and this even if
the word contain one of the Arabic or Persian long vowels a, i or u : thus
gha^el is pronounced as gha-zel ratlier than as gha-zel; and the last syllable
of qasida takes a slight accent, qa-si-da, notwithstanding the presence of the
i in the middle syllable.

In the case of Oriental words that have become naturalised in English,
the ordinary spelling has been retained when this adequately represents the
pronunciation. Of such words are Islam, Koran, Houri, Sultan, Bey, Cadi,
and Dervish, which according to the system would be written Islam, Qur^dn,
Hiiri, Sultan, Beg, Qadi (for Qdzi), Dervish. On the other hand Vezir (for
Vezir) has been used instead of the barbarous Vizier, Khalifa instead of
Caliph, Muslim instead of Moslem.

In the san\e way, with regard to geographical names : forms that have
become established by usage, such as Aleppo, Cairo, Baghdad, Crimea, have
been employed instead of their originals, Ilaleb, Qdhira, Baghddd, (^irim; in
the case of Greek and other European names modified by the Turks, the
original form has been retained when this is the more familiar, thus, Adrianople,
Smyrna, Bosnia, for Edirne, Izmir, Bosna; otherwise the Turkish modification
has been used, thus, Qonya, Iznik, Izmid, for Iconium, Niciea, Nicomedia.

LIST Ol' THE OTTOMAN SULTy\NS.

'^Osman I succeeded his father Er-Toghrul, son of Sulcynian Shiih, as chief
of his tril)e in A. II. 687 (A. D. 1288); he became an independent sovereign
on the dissolution of the Seljiiq Empire in A. H. 699 (A. 1). 1299).

The dates are those of the Sovereign's accession, according to the Muham-
medan and Christian eras.

1 '^Osman I

2 Orkhan

3 Murcid I

4 Bayezid I

son of Er-Toghrul
son of '"Osman I
son of Orkhan
son of Murad I

A. 11. A.D.

699 1299

726 1326

761 1359

792 1390

Interregnum (The Princes Suleyman, '^sa,
Miisa, and Mehemmed, sons of Ikiyezi'd I,

fight for

the

throne.)

805

J 403

Mehemmed

son of Bayezid I

816

1413

Murad II

son of Mehemmed

824

1421

Mehemmed

son of Murad 11

855

145'

Bayezid II

son of Mehemmed

886

1 48 1

Selim

son of Bayezid 11

91 S

1512

Suleyman I

son of Selim I

926

1520

Selim II

son of Suleyman I

974

1566

Mui;ul 111

son of Selim II

982

1574

Mehemmed

III

son of Murad III

1003

«595

AhniL-.l !

son of Mehemmed

III

1012

1603

Mustafa 1

son of Mehemmed

III

1026

1617

•"Osman II

son of Ahmed I

1027

1618

Mustafa I

(restored)

1 03 1

1622

Murad IV

son of Ahmed I

1032

1623

Ibrahim

son of Ahmed I

1049

1640

Mehemmed

son ><{ Ibrahim

105S

1648

Suleyman 11

[

son of Ibrahim

1099

1687

XVlll

A. H.

A. D.

Ahmed II

son

of Ibrahim

1 102

1691

Mustafa II

son

of Mehemmed IV

1 106

1695

Ahmed III

son

of Mehemmed IV

"15

1703

Mahmiid I

son

of Mustafa II

"43

1730

'Osman III

son

of Mustafa II

1168

1754

Mustafa III

son

of Ahmed III

1171

1757

'Abd-ul-Hamid 1

son

of Ahmed III

1187

1773

Seli'm III

son

of Mustafa III

1203

1789

Mustafa IV

son

of 'Abd-ul-HamfJ I

1222

1807

Mahmud II

son

of =Abd-uI-Hamid I

1223

1808

'Abd-uI-Mejid

son

of Mahmud II

1255

1839

'Abd-ul-'^Aziz

son

of Mahmud II

1277

1861

Murad V

son

of 'Abd-uI-Mejid

1293

1876

''Abd-ul-Hamid II

son

of 'Abd-ul-Mejid

1293

1876

CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

Page

Preface v

On the Pronunciation of the Ottoman Names and Words xiii

List of the Ottoman Sultans xvii

Corrigenda xix

BOOK I: Intkouuctuky —

Chapter I : The Origin, Character and Scope of Ottoman Poetry . . 3

Chapter II: Tradition, Philosophy and Mysticism 33

Chapter III: Verse- Forms, Prosody and Rhetoric 70

Chapter IV: Historical Outline 125

BOOK II: The First Period —

Note on the Authorities for the First Period 139

Chapter I: The Early Mystics — Jeldl-ud-Din. Sultan Vcled. Viinus

Imre. Ashiq Pasha ( ^4\^

Chapter II: The Beginning of Secular Poetry — Teftazani. Cadi

Burhan-ud-Din 201

Chapter III: The First Ottoman Poets — Ahmed. Niyazi. Suleyman

Chelebi 225

Chapter IV: Riveting the Voke — Prince Suleyman's Poets. Ahmed-i

Da'^i 249

Chapter V: The Romancists — Ahmedi 260

Chapter VI: The Romancists (continued) — Sheykhi 299

Chapter VII: The Hunifis — Nesi'mi. Rcfii 336

Chapter VIII: The Scribe and his Sons — Salah-ud-Din. Vaziji-oghli

Mehemmed 389

Chapter IX: Minor Poets — Lyric Writers. Mevlevis. Romancists . 411
Chapter X: Concluding Remarks — The Position at the Close of the

First Period. Eastern and Western Culture in the Middle Ages . . 441

APPENDIX: —

First Lines of the Turkish Text of the Poems translated in Volume I. 451

C O R R 1 G E N D A.

Page

Line

For:

Read:

ij^:i>

oy:^

it the cause

it is the cause

eek

seek

carry

Mushterik

Mushterek

100

Subhet

Subhat

106

116

C^'X?'

o^-iC>

120

152

Jelal-ud-Din

Jeldl-ud-Din

218

-0^

^/3'

221

resent

present

231

Riydzi

0_o.

241

/^'

r^'

242

So ,

1 . ;;•,

0 _

286

Zahir

293

calander

calender

302

Khirad-Namc

Khired-Ndme

359

amything

anything

370

lib

Li^

408

4i2

fru state

frustrate.

BOOK I

INTRODUCTORY.

CHAPTER I.

The Origin, Character and Scope of
Ottoman Poetry.

A long road lies before us. We are about to trace the
rise and development of poetry among the Ottoman Turks,
a people whose literary history began six hundred years ago
and is still in progress. We shall first have to try to catch
some glimpse of the earliest efforts of this poetrj' in the far
off days of the founders of the Empire ; then we shall have
to watch it feeling its way, now in this direction, now in that,
while the Ottoman power itself is being gradually evolved ;
next we shall see it spreading its wings in surer flight as
prosperity and security bring increase of culture ; then we
shall trace its brilliant course through the seventeenth centur)',
when of a truth it held the gorgeous East in fee ; after which
we shall pursue its devious track through the years that
follow, look upon its struggles and its failures, till at length
we see it in these latest days burst forth once again in
strong fresh life, more vigorous, more buoyant, more hopeful
than ever it had been in the days of the Sulexnidns or the
Ahmeds.

But before setting out on our journey through the ages,
it will be well to equip ourselves for the road by getting
some idea as to what have been the aims and tendencies

of Ottoman poetry, what the conditions under which it has
been developed, and what the forms of verse in which it
has found expression. We shall therefore first of all try to
learn something of the general characteristics of this poetry
and of the circumstances which have influenced these ; after
which we shall look at its outward structure.

Ottoman poetry falls into two great divisions which we
may call the Old or Asiatic School and the New or European
School. The first of these rules unchallenged from the very
outset down to the middle of the nineteenth century, when
the second makes its appearance and in the course of a
very few years wholly supersedes its worn-out rival. This
second school differs so widely not merely in the outward
form of its verse, but in its whole bent and purpose from all
that goes before, that it will be better to leave it to be
treated apart later on, and to confine ourselves for the present
to the consideration of the Old or Asiatic School.

The Old School of Ottoman poetry covers a period of
five and a half centuries; and although during this long time
it naturally passed through many stages and underwent many
modifications, its unity was never broken ; what its form and
purpose were in the fourteenth century, that in all essential
points they were in the nineteenth.

The five and a half centuries occupied by this School may
be conveniently divided into Four Periods. The First of
these will cover the century and a half which extends between
A. D. 1300, when the Empire was established, and A. D.
1450 ; during this Period, which might be called the Formative
Age, the Western branch of the Turkish language ' was being

' The Turkish language extends through Central and Western Asia from
the frontier of China to the shores of the Mediterranean. Those dialects that
are spoken between China and Persia arc grouped together under the name
of East-Turkish, those that prevail between Persia and the Mediterranean
under that of West-Turkish.

fitted to become a literary medium. The Second Period,
which will embrace the hundred and fifty years between 1450
and 1600, marks the time when, the initial difiiculties with
the language having been overcome, the poets were able to
give their chief attention to the study and reproduction of
the methods of the contemporary Persian school, that
school at whose head stood the illustrious Jami. The Third
Period will cover the seventeenth century ; it is marked by
the yet further Persianisation of Ottoman poetry, and by tl
supersession of Jami by ^Urfi, and later by Sa^ib, as literary
model. The F'ourth Period, which will embrace the eighteenth
century and the first half of the nineteenth, differs from the
others in being an age of uncertainty. At first many of the
poets follow the Persian Shevket ; then there comes a reaction
against Persianism ' and an unsuccessful attempt to give a
more Turkish character to poetry ; this again is followed by
a time in which all guiding principle seems to be lost and
poetry to be drifting helplessly back to an effete and colourless
Persianism. And it is upon this moribund and hopeless age
that the sun of the new culture, the culture of the West,
arises, bringing fresh life where lay the shadow of death,
and bright with happy promise for tlie future.

Of course the dates mentioned in connection with those
Four Periods must not be considered as hard and fast
boundar) -lines, a thing so subtle as a literary tendency does
not admit of being mapped out with any such definiteness.
Put looked at broadl)-, these divisions will be found to
correspond to as many distinct movements; and thc>^ will,
moreover, prove of considerable assistance in a systematic
study of the development of this poetry.

> By the term 'Persianism' I mean here and elsewhere, not a Persian idiom,
but Persian culture as adopted by the Ottomans, and more especially, as
applied by them to matters connected with literature.

;rx

That great race to which the Ottomans belong, that race
which includes not only the Turks both Western and East-
ern, but all the so-called Tartars and Turkmans as well as
the Mongols, has never produced any religion, philosophy
or literature which bears the stamp of its individual genius.
This is because the true genius of that race lies in action,
not in speculation. The Turks and their kinsfolk are before
all things soldiers. The societies which they formed in early
times, before the introduction of Islam into Central Asia,
were almost exclusively for military purposes. When the
expedition was at an end, the several clans, families or in-
dividuals who had banded together for a common purpose
most often dispersed, very soon to become members of some
new and equally impermanent combination. Had there been
nothing else, the unceasing restlessness of this mode of life
would have been enough to prevent these people from
elaborating any profound theory of the universe or developing
anything in the way of literature beyond a mere folk-poetry.
The distinguishing qualities of the Turkish race have ever
been the essentially military virtues of courage and loyalty.
Of their courage it is needless to speak ; all the world knows
how from the beginning down to the present hour courage
has been the birthright of every true Turk. Their loyalty
has been no less persistent, and has manifested itself in many
directions. It forms the basis of what is perhaps the most
Jr striking characteristic of Ottoman literature. It is well exem-
-l plified in the relation of the race to Islam. The Turks are
not naturally a people of strong religious feeling. While left
to themselves, they had no definite religion ; in ancient times,
before foreign missionaries came among them, such religious
notions as they had were confined to a vague nature-worship.
By and by some among them became, under outside influence,
Buddhists or Christians; afterwards the great majority of the

race accepted Islam, not because that religion was peculiarly
in harmony with their native genius, but as a result of the
circumstances in which the)' found themselves. Yet from that
day to this the Turks have with unflinching courage and
unfaltering loyalty defended the religion to which they thus
tendered their allegiance. They have not argued much about
it, neither have they sought to force it upon other nations;
but whenever it has been attacked they have been the foremost
of its defenders. In like manner have the Turks carried the
military spirit of their race into all the relationships they have
formed ; as faithful soldiers, when they receive an order, do
not discuss but obey it, so this people, when they accept _
a system, do not criticise but stand by it. This unquestioning y.
loyalty to principles once accepted lies at the root of the
Turkish character. We shall see how it has acted upon their
literature.

Though unable to originate any literature which should
give expression to the true genius of their race, the Turkish
peoples were very far from despising, or even undervaluing,
culture. Consequently, when they were brought into close
connection with the Persians, although they despised the
latter as men, looking upon them as braggarts and cowards,
they at once recognised their superiority in learning and
culture. And so the Turks forthwith appropriated the entire
Persian literary system down to its minutest detail, and that^
in the same unquestioning and whole-hearted fashion in which
they had already accepted Islam. Here again they did not
pause to consider whether this Persian culture were really
in harmony with their own genius, they did not even attempt
to modify it to suit that genius ; on the contrary, they sought
to adapt the latter to it, and to force themselves to think
upon Persian lines and to look upon things through Persian
eyes. Their loyalty to the system thus accepted explains the

secret of the long duration of the Old School of Ottoman
poetry ; and indeed this fidelity of five and a half centuries
to a single tradition is the most truly Turkish characteristic
which that poetry has to show.

From the very beginning then of their literature the Otto-
mans made it their practice to select and incorporate into
their language such Persian and Persianised Arabic words
and terms as were felt to be necessary to fill up the deficiencies
in their native Tartar dialect. These new-comers, while each
retained its original form unchanged, were all, so to speak
naturalised, being subjected in every point to the rules of
Turkish speech ; they were woven into the Turanian ground-
work of the language, and thus the Persian was Turkicised,
not the Turkish Persianised. As time went on more and
more of such additions were made ; Persian ideas and canons
of taste were adopted and incorporated ; so that the language
of the Second and later Periods comes to have the effect
of an elaborate mosaic.

It is not too much to say that during the whole of the
five and a half centuries covered by the Old School, though
more especially during the Third Period, every Persian and
every Arabic word was a possible Ottoman word. In thus
borrowing material from the two classical languages a writer
was quite unrestricted save by his own taste and the limit
of his knowledge ; all that was required was that in case of
need he should give to the foreign words a Turkish gram-
matical form. Since the rise of the New School this license
has been greatly curtailed. While the tendency has grown
to drop such of these words as have failed to naturalise
themselves, it has become the practice to confine this borrowing
to really necessary terms — chiefly scientific or technical
expressions — which arc often introduced under forms or in
combinations unknown in the original language, precisely

as we employ Greek or Latin terms for similar purposes.

But the principle has not changed ; what was formerly
done with Persian and Arabic is being repeated, though
with far more discretion, in these days with French. Western
words and Western idioms, necessary to give expression to w,
new ideas born of a new civilisation, are driving the old
Asian phraseology from its time-honoured throne and be-
coming part and parcel of the living language of to-day.
So far as the mere language is concerned, the eftect obtained
by reading successively three poems, one of the Second
Period, one of the Fourth, and one of the present day, might
be compared to that produced by the shifting combinations
seen in a kaleidoscope, a succession of brilliant devices,
alike in general character, but differing in detail, with each
individual member standing out distinct and clear.

This system of assimilation was of course not restricted
merely to words and phrases ; it extended to everything
connected with letters. We shall find that the tone and spirit
of Ottoman poetry have been profoundly affected by those
foreign literatures which have been accepted as models ; while
it is still more indebted to them for its imagery, subjects
and verse-forms. In the case of the Old School the literature
thus accepted was, as we know, that of Persia, and before
proceeding to examine Turkish poetry itself, let us sec whether
we can discover what were the circumstances which created
Persia the literary instructor of the Ottoman people '.

A mere tribe of rude and unlettered nomads was the little
Turkish clan which in the thirteenth century of our era, flying

' Some authorities would have it that Ottoman literature is modelled rather
on Arabic than on Persian. But such is not the case, except perhaps in
theological and legal writings; in belles lettres, and especially in poetry,
Persian alone is followed. No Ottoman poet ever modelled his style on that
of an Arab poet; whereas ever}' Ottoman poet sought to reproduce something
of the manner of one or other of the Persian masters.

before the terrible armies of len^;!/. Khan, left its home in
Central Asia and followeu Suleynian Shah into Anatolia. On
their anival in that land these new-comers, who by and
by were to form the nucleus of the Ottoman ])o\\er, found
establisheil there another Turkish ])eo])!e, the Seljiiqs, who
had b\' this time attained a very considerable det;"ree of
culture, thanks e-ntirely to Persian tutoraL^e. For these Seljiiqs
had lieen orii^inally, like the forefathers of the ( )ttomans, a
barbarous Tartar clan. About the middle e)t the eleventh
century they had overrun Persia, when, as has so often
happened, the barbarian conquerors adopted the culture of
their ci\ilised subjects. Rapidly the Seljiiq Turks pushed
tlu'ir contjuests westward, ever carrying; with them Persian
culture, till towards the cm] of the eleventh century they
founded the famous Selju<| Turkish l^mpire of Rum or Asia
Minor, with (Jonya, the ancient Iconiimi, as its ca])ita!. So
when some hundred and fifty years later, Suleyman's son
Kr-Toghrul and his clansmen ]jenetrated into Asia Minor
they found that a!thouL;h Seljuq Turkish was the everyday
speech of tlu: pe-ople, Persian was the lani;ua_L;e of the court,
while Persian literatuie and Persian culture rei;j,ned supreme.
Er-Tocdu-ul at once acknowledged himself the vassal of
the SeljiK] Sultan, a stej) in which he was f)llowed by liis
sf)n "Osman who is reckoned the fnvst monarch of the P^mpirc
which takes from him its name of 'Osm;inli or Ottoman.
The feeble Seljuq comt, i)erceivin;j; the courac;e and hardihood
of 'Osman and his sturdy followers, entrusted to them as a
feudal domain a district in the nortli-west of the lunpire,
borderiuL^ on the IJy/.antine territory. Hardly were 'Osman
and his clansmen settled in their new home before the Sejjiiq
Empire fell to jjieces, shattered by the irresistible onslaught
of the l\b)ni4()l iiosts. The western portion of the Empire
then split u[) into ten petty kingdoms, each under an

1 1

independent Turkish chieftain, by whose name it continued
to be known so long as it enjoyed a separate existence.
These little kingdoms, which together formed what has been
called the West-Turkish Decarchy, were gradually merged
in that of Orkhan and his successors, whereupon the inhabit-
ants, Turks themselves like the Ottomans, readily amalgamated
with these latter, whence it comes that by far the greater
portion of the people known to the \\orld as Ottoman Turks
have, almost from the outset, been in reality Seljiiqs who
have adopted the Ottoman name.

It is to the Seljuqs with whom they were thus fused that
the Ottomans, strictly so called, owe their Hterary education;
this therefore was of necessity Persian as the Seljuqs knew
no other. Moreover, as from the very beginning of the Empire
the name of Ottoman was, as we have just seen, extended
to all men of Turkish race as they passed under the
sceptre of the ''Osmanli Sultan ', a great deal of what we
call Ottoman poetry is the work of men who were Ottomans
in a political sense alone. But this makes little practical
difference, as these writers were all alike, whether originally
Ottomans or not, Turks who had been educated on exclusively
Persian lines.

What the Ottoman did when he succeeded to the heritage
of the Seljiiq was to create Turkish literature. Up till then
there had been no Turkish literature worthy of the name.
When a Turk had wished to write he had, with a few rare

' The name Ottoman is a corruption of the Turkish ''Osmanli which properly
means a follower of Osman, and would be exactly rendered by the term
^Osmanite'. It was originally applied to those Turks, whether his own clansmen
or other, who were subject to ^Osmin the first Sultan. But as the Empire of
his successors increased, the name was extended to embrace all Turks included
within it. Thus it frequently happened in those early times that men who
were not 'Ottomans' one year, found themselves such the following. Now-
adays the name is still further extended to include all the subjects of the
Sultan whether Turkish or non-Turkish.

and, from a literary point of view, unimportant exceptions,
made use of the Persian language. Henceforth, decreed the
Ottoman, let the Turk who would address the world speak
in his own tongue. But how to evoke a literary language
from that chaos of rude tribal and local dialects? The first
thing needful was surely some guide to show how thought
should be expressed, some standard by which to determine
the kind of phraseology to be used. As to this guide and
standard there could be no hesitation, for there was no choice.
The Turks knew but one literature, that of Persia on which
they had been reared. And thus this brilliant literature
became, not by selection, but by force of circumstances, the
model after which the Turks should fashion that they were
about to found.

This acceptance of Persian guidance was immensely facili-
tated by the fact that the native Turkish verse — as it found
expression in the folk-songs and popular ballads — had already
much in common with the Persian system. Metres and verse-
forms, somewhat vague and rough-hewn it is true, but very-
similar in lilt and shape to certain Persian varieties, were in
existence among the Turks as products of genuine home-
growth. Consequently when the question arose of elaborating
a vehicle for literary poetry, it was not altogether met by a
mere wholesale borrowing from outside, but to a certain
extent by the working up of already existing materials to
more perfect conformity with the accepted standard. In this
way a good many points in the technique of Turkish verse,
though now identical with their counterparts in the Persian
system, are in their origin not, as superficially appears, loans
from that system, but genuine native elements that have
been artificially brought into complete conformity with it.
This, however, is a matter of historical interest only, as
every distinctively Turkish characteristic has been carefully

pruned away, and the conformity brought about is so perfect
that for all that appears on the surface, these elements might,
like the rest, have been taken over directly from the Persians.

As we have already seen, the Turks were not content with
learning from the Persians how to express thought; they »y
went to them to learn what to think and in what way to
think. In practical matters, in the affairs of everyday life
and in the business of government, they preferred their own
ideas; but in tiie spheres of science, philosophy and literature
they acknowledged only too freely their deficiency; and
there they went to school with the Persian, intent not merely
on acquiring his methods, but on entering into his spirit,
thinking his thoughts and feeling his feelings. And in this
school they continued so long as there was a master to teach
them ; for the step thus taken at the outset developed into
a practice, it became the rule with the Turkish poets to
look ever Persia-ward for guidance and to follow whatever
fashion might prevail there. Thus it comes about that for
centuries Ottoman poetry continued to reflect as in a glass
the several phases through which that of Persia passed. So
much for Turkish loyalty.

It behoves us therefore at this point to learn something
of the character of this Persian poetry which has so profoundly
affected that we are about to study. In so doing we shall
of course pass over those sides of this poetry, such as the
epic, which have had no influence in moulding Turkish
verse, and confine ourselves to these that have inspired and
directed the Ottoman poets. And the matters at which we
are now about to look have the greater claim on our attention
in that they were so thoroughly assimilated by the Turkish
poets that although originally Persian, they are every whit
as characteristic of the poetry of the Ottomans as of that
from which they were borrowed.

Long before the time that the Ottoman determined to
create a Turkish Hterature the Persian genius had recovered
from the echpse brought about by the Arab conquest,
and the Persian poetic system was fully developed and
securely established. The first period of Persian poetry, that
robuster and more virile period which had produced the
great national epic, was past and gone, and for a century
^and a half poetry had been in the hands of mystics who
i'deliberately turned away from the__things of eartli and sang
in the language of love, borrowed from their predecessors,
of the passionate yearning of the soul for God. And so by
this time the Persian mystic-philosophic system was, like
the Persian poetic system, completely elaborated and organ-
ised. The Turks thus found these two systems — the poetic
and the mystic-philosophic — both fully evolved, and they
accepted both in their entirety. They found moreover that
the two systems were in close alliance; the poet was most
often a mystic, and the mystic most often a poet. This
too they accepted as part of the order of nature ; and for
ages afterwards the phraseology of the mystics continued
■ to form no small portion of the Ottoman poet's stock in trade.

It would be interesting to enquire into the origin and
development of these two systems, of which the one is as
the body and the other as the soul of old Ottoman poetry.
But the study would take us too far afield ; so we must be
content to follow the example of the Turks themselves and
accept the two as ready made, restricting our attention to
what they were when our story opens, and letting pass
the question how they came to be such. The first, the
poetic system, we shall consider in detail in another chapter ;
but of the second, the mystic-philosophic system , we may
here say a few words that will be helpful to us when study-
ing the writings of the Ottoman poets.

This mystic-philosophic system, wliich the Persians and
/Turks call "Ilm-i Tasavvuf, a term usually rendered as
' Sufiism, * has been well described as an idealistic pantheism.
It has two sides; the one philosophic, the other mystic.
These are closely interwoven, in reality they arc but two
aspects of a single whole; but like those iridescent shells
which show one or another tint according to the light in
which they are viewed, Sufiism presents its one or other
aspect according to the standpoint from which it is regarded.
The poets, unless they are avowed teachers of the system,
regard it almost wholly from the mystic side, and leave
the philosophic comparatively unnoticed. We may therefore
pass by the latter till we come to consider the various philo-
sophies current among the Turks, and for the present
confine our attention to the former, which is the real sourctV'
of inspiration of well nigh all Persian and Ottoman poetry.

Of the many who have sought to present the transcen-
dental aspect of the Sufi system none has been more suc-
cessful than the great Persian poet Jami. In a magnificent
canto in the Introduction to his beautiful poem on the story
of Joseph and Zelikha ' he tells how and why the universe
arose ; and the account he gives, which may be taken as
the Eastern poets' Confession of Faith, is in substance as
follows.

God, whom Siifis and poets generally speak of as 'The
Truth,' is at once Absolute Being, the only Real Existence

' The whole canto has been admirably translated by Mr. E. G. Browne
in his excellent article on Sufiism which appears in the volume entitled
'Religious Systems of the World' (Swan, Sonnenschein & Co., 1892). This
translation is reprinted in the same scholar's 'Year amongst the Persians'
(Black, 1893), a work which cannot be too highly recommended; the student
will learn more concerning the real life and thought of modern Persia from
this one book than from all the other records of travel that have yet been
published.

that ever has been or ever can be, therefore necessarily
comprising within Himself all apparent existences whatsoever ;
and Absolute Good, therefore necessarily Absolute Beauty,
Beauty being one side or aspect of Good. Such is the Di-
vine Nature ; and having learned this, we may perceive
how the phenomenal universe came into existence ; for this,
unlike the Absolute, is temporal, not eternal.

Ere yet time was, God dwelt alone in unrevealed love-
liness and glory ; alone in solitary radiance shone Absolute
Beauty; no eye was there to gaze enraptured on Its un-
speakable fairness, no heart to thrill in ecstasy at Its all-
perfect harmony. None was there to see It, none to love It :

' To Its own self It sang of loveliness,
'With Its own self It cast the die of love.

Now, as we all know, a marked characteristic of Beauty,
whatever be the form it may assume, is an innate desire
of self-manifestation. Thus a beautiful face is impatient of
concealment and ever desires to be seen ; similarly, when
a beautiful thought or conception occurs to the mind, it is
not content to be buried away out of sight, but seeks ex-
pression through language or through art, as the case may
be. This is so because the desire of self-expression is an
essential attribute of the Absolute Beauty whereof these
phenomenal forms are so many partial manifestations. The
phenomenal universe then results from this desire of self-
manifestation on the part of Absolute Beauty. This is very
clearly expressed in a famous Hadis or 'Apostolic Trad-
ition,' continually on the lips of the poets, in which God,
in answer to a question of David as to why He had
created man, replies, ' I was a Hidden Treasure, therefore

was I tain to be known, and so I created creation in order
that I should be known.' '

But how was this manifestation thus demanded by the
Divine Nature to be brought about? It is an axiom that
thini^s can be known only through their opposites or negations. *
Thus it wt)uid be impossible for us to form the conception
of light, were we ignorant of its opposite or negation, not-
light, that is, darkness. Now the opposite or negation of
Absolute Being, which is one and the same with Absolute
Beauty and Absolute Good, is necessarily Not-Being, Not-
Beauty, Not-Good. But such can have no real existence, for
all real existence is of necessity comprised in Absolute Being,
of which this is the negation. Not-Being is then only a

1 Li-c"^ ,„iLi='Ji ii^JiLs^i v_;-£l q' ci*-**>l-J L^j^^o \-J>S o*^

A Hadis is a traditional saying of the Prophet Muhammed handed down from

one or more of his Companions. There is a great number of such, and the

well-authenticated among them rank in authority second to the Koran. When,

as in the above, the true speaker is God, and the Prophet is but the voice, /C^^ii

the Tradition is called a Hadis-i Qudsi or 'Divine Tradition ;' when on the

other hand the Prophet is at once speaker and voice, it is a Hadis-i Sherif : '

or 'Blessed Tradition.'

* This forms a text for Jeldl-ud-Din in the fifth story of the first book of
the Mesnevi, where he says:

lXjAj OJS lo Ji'K^' O^^O ,V.^ ^ * *^/' o' ^ijrJ Oi.> 'j4.£ 5 ^.

'The Truth hath created pain and sorrow for this reason

'That through these opposites joyousness may become known.

'Thus hidden things become manifest through their opposites.

'Since The Truth hath no opposite He remaineth concealed.

'Thus by the opposite of light hast thou known light.

'Opposite showeth opposite in all things.'
A very good idea of the nature and scope of the Mesnevi can be obtained
from Mr. E. H. Whinfield's abridged translation, ' Masnavi i Ma^navi, The
Spiritual Couplets of Mauland Jaldlu-'d-Din i Riimi,' Triibuer & Co., 1887.

phantasm evoked for a season and for a special purpose.
Again, in that it is the antithesis of the Divine Nature, Not-
Being is also Not-Good, or, as we should say, is Evil. Here
then we have the Eastern mystic's explanation of the Mystery
of Evil comprised in his explanation of the Mystery of Creation.
As Absolute Being could be known only through Its negation
Not-Being, so Absolute Good could be known only through
Its negation Not-Good ; and as Absolute Being and Absolute
Good are one, so also are Not-Being and Not-Good. Evil has
therefore no real existence; there is no Absolute Evil as
there is Absolute Good ; by its very nature Evil is temporary
and limited, it is but an illusion which the conditions of
manifestation have rendered necessary for a while.

The process of manifestation was accomplished thus. When
Not-Being became opposed to Being there appeared on the
former, as in a mirror, a reflection or shadow of the latter. '
This reflection, which partakes of the nature of both Being
and Not-Being, is called Contingent Being, and is none else
than the phenomenal universe in which during this life we
find ourselves and of which we form part. The phenomenal
universe has thus no real objective existence; it is but the
reflection of Absolute Being cast on the mirror Not-Being.
This has been well illustrated by the reflection cast by the

1 In Mahmiid-i Shcbisteri's Gulshen-i Rdz, or 'Mystic Rose-bower,' one of
the text-books of Siifiism, we read :

oio (jii.j'*.J ;j*>.Xc c^-^'iAaj ^jjj * Oi-J^J^-* o^^*^ iS"^*^^ ^^^^- (•'-^^

'Not-Being is the mirror, Being is the Absolute

'Wherefrom is manifested the reflection of the effulgence of The Truth.

'When Not-Being became opposed to (was set opposite) Being

'A reflection was straightway produced thereon.'
See Mr. Whinfield's scholarly edition and translation of the Gulshcn-i Raz
(Triibner, 1880).

sun on a pool. ' This reflection owes such existence as it has
entirely to the sun; the moment the sun withdraws itself
the reflection ceases to exist, and while the reflection is thus
wholly dependent on the sun, the sun is absolutely independent
of it. can indeed renew it an infinity of times without sus-
taining the slightest loss thereby. The pool is thus the mirror
of the sun, as Not-Being is the mirror of Being, and the
reflection cast on the water typifies the phenomenal universe.
As the universe is thus the image of Absolute Being, that
is of God, reflected in the mirror Not-Being, so, they continue,
is man the eye in that image, and as when we look in a
mirror, we perceive a small image of ourselves reflected in
the pupil, so is the image of God reflected in this eye which
is man. Thus is God revealed unto Himself and unto man,
and thus moreover does man contain in himself the image
of God. -'

Man, like the phenomenal universe in which he finds him-
self, and of which he presents an epitome, is double-natured,
partaking at once of Being and Not-Being, of Good and
Evil, of Reality and Unreality. But as that side of him
which derives from Being, and which therefore alone has a
real and eternal existence, is necessarily an emanation of
Divinity, he is, so far, ultimately and essentially one with

' See Mr. Browne's article on Siifiism, p. 330.
* In the Gulshen-i Raz we read :

...Li>o ,jLi.i^>^ ^^.O ^j«^c *,<i;j>y^ « O^"**^' 3 J^^ ♦■^^^ *"*-^' f*-^^

'Not-Being is the mirror, the universe is the reflection, and man

'Is like the eye in the reflection, (an eye) wherein is a hidden image (i. e.
the image of God reflected in the pupil.)

'Thou art the eye in the reflection, and He (God) is the Light of the eye;

'With the (human) eye, the eye (i.e. man) eyeth that Eye (i.e. God who
seeth all things.)'

God. This Divine particle in man, this spark of Pure Being,
is ever seeking, consciously or unconsciously, to be reunited
to its source ; but so long as the phenomenal state lasts,
the presence of the element of Not-Being holds it back.
Man's business then is to eliminate, so far as may be, this
element of Not-Being, and to attain to that union with God,
that absorption into the Divine, which, though to be fully
achieved only after the death of the body, is possible in a
certain measure even in this present life.

But how is one to overcome the element of Not-Being ?
By conquering self; for self, which seems so real, is in truth
the supreme illusion as it the cause of all our woe. For
what are we to talk of self? We have no self; whatever we
have of Real Being is God's, not ours; the rest is mere
nothingness, the negation of Being, the negation of Good,
to hug which can bring only sorrow.

And how is self to be conquered ? By Love. By Love,
and by Love alone, can the dark shadow of Not-Being be
done away; by Love, and by Love alone, can the soul of
man win back to its Divine source and find its ultimate
goal in reunion with The Truth. And the first lessons of
this Love, which is the keynote of Siifiism and of all the
literature it has inspired, may be, nay, must be learned
through a merely human passion. Than true love 'there is
no subtler master under heaven.' In the poem already quoted,
Jami tells of a would-be disciple who came craving instruction
from a master of the mystic lore, when the master, having
ascertained that this youth had never loved, bade him go
back into the world, learn what to love means, and then
return.

But this human love, good and helpful though it is, is
not itself the end, it is but the means to the end ; it is the
'Bridge' across which the pilgrim of The Truth must pass.

It is called the 'Typal' Love in contradistinction to the 'Real,'
which is the Divine Love ; and no watchword of the mystics
is more often quoted by the poets than this pregnant phrase
'the Typal is the Bridge to the Real.' ' But fair as the Bridge
may be, the pilgrim must beware of lingering thereon, lest
haply he should fail to reach his journey's end. Once across,
his eyes are opened, his heart is made clairvoyant through
Divine Love ; wherever he turn his gaze he sees the Face
of God; God shines down on him from every star in the
sky, God looks up at him from every flower in the field,
God smiles on him in every fair face, God speaks to him
in every sweet sound ; all around him there is God, nothing
but God. If he turn his eyes inward and look into his own
heart, there he can read letter by letter the very heart of
God. For he has now become one with God, knowing and
feeling that there is naught beside God ; and he can cry out
with Mansiir 'I am The Truth!'- and exclaim with Bayezid
of Bistam 'There is none other than God within my cloak!' ^

On such lines proceeds the mystic philosophy which the \
Turks learned from the Persians, and of which the echo, if
not the living voice, rings for centuries in their poetry. In
the language of the mystic poets God is 'the Beloved," man

- t#* 5 O- 3 -

' The Arabic runs : MLJi.5^1 sJxLJJ -.L.?^^'- For ' typal ' %vc might equally

read 'allegoric,' 'the Allegoric is the Bridge to the True.'

* Huseyn Mansiir-i Hallaj, that is, Huseyn Mansiir the Wool Larder, is, so
to speak, the patron saint of the Svifis, and his name is of frequent occurrence
in the pages of the poets, who always mention him in terms of love and
veneration. In A. H. 310 (A. D. 923) he was put to a cruel death by the
doctors of Baghdad on a charge of blasphemy for having exclaimed while in

a state of mystic ecstasy ^jL^' Ljl ' I am The Truth ! ' i. c. 'I am God ! '
When the poets mention Mansiir it is usually in association with this
famous phrase.

3 Bayezid of Bistam was a very famous saint of early times; he is said to
have been bom in A. H. 160 (.\. D. 776-7) and to have lived to be nearly
a hundred years of age.

'the lover.' Under the figure of the lover's anguish at separation
from his loved one they show forth the yearning of the soul
of man for the Divine Soul whence it came ; by the symbol
of the cruel self-sufhciency of the beloved, frenzying the
distracted lovers by half-revealed glimpses of a beauty no
words may tell, they picture those momentary flashes which
from time to time light up the soul, bringing it for an instant
face to face with Reality, and vanishing ere their presence
is realised. The poets see the presence of God immanent
in all beautiful things, but manifested most clearly and most
fully in fair humanity. Therefore is it good to love and to
admire such, for through this is revealed most perfectly the
Beauty of the Godhead. i\nd even as it is God who is
mirrored in the fair face, it is God, the poet feels, who looks
through the lover's eyes; God beholds and loves God, and
the supreme miracle of Divine self-manifestion is accomplished.
Bound up with this mystic side of Siifi'ism is the famous
allegory of the 'Primal Compact.' In a somewhat . obscure
passage of the Koran, God is represented as having, before
the creation of the world, summoned into His presence the
as yet unembodied souls of all who were to dwell on earth,
and as having put to each one individually the question :
E-lestu bi-rabbikum? 'Am not I your Lord?' to which each
soul replied: Bela! 'Yea!' ' The poets are fond of imagining
that it is the echo of this never quite forgotten oath of
fealty, sworn before time was, which, ringing through the
soul, impels it to that quest of The Truth where alone it
is in harmony with its true being; and when they would
tell of it in ecstatic trance, rapt and beside itself at some

1 The actual words of the Koran (vii, 171) are: And when thy Lord
took from the children of Adam out of their loins their seed, and made them
bear witness against themselves, 'Am not I your Lord?' They said, 'Vea, we
do bear witness.'

glimpse of the Divine Beauty, they picture it as 'drunken'
with the 'Wine of E-lest' quafled in eternity at the 'Primal
Feast.'

The early Sufi poets IkuI taken the current phraseology
of the contemporary singers of love and wine, and by im-
parting a mystic signification to the terms thus adopted,
they had constructed a species of symbolic language in
which, for example, 'wine' represents the mystic love, 'the
vintner' the teacher thereof, 'the tavern' the place where
it is taught, just as the 'Beloved' stands for God, and the
'lover' for man. According to certain commentators this
vocabulary was carried to an extreme point of elaboration,
every object mentioned by the poet being typal of some
philosophic or rhystic conception; thus the 'cheek' of the
Beloved represents the cosmos, the 'tresses' the mystery of
the Godhead, and so on. Commentaries have been written
on Hafiz in which the whole of that poet's works are in-
terpreted in this 'spiritual' fashion; but it is extremely
doubtful whether he or any other poet ever systematically
wrote upon §uch lines. None the less the shadow of this
symbolism never entirely passes away; it lingers as a vague
reminiscence all through Turkish poetry.
■^ According as mysticism or materialism is predominant
in the poet's temperament, will the symbolic or the literal
predominate in his work. As a rule both elements are pre-
sent, subtly and inextricably blended, now the one and
now the other advancing into the foreground and sinking
into the rear. This poetry thus floats between the sensuous
and the supersensuous ; Love and Beauty are presented in >i
their fairest and most seductive garb, but so deft is the
presentation that the reader finds himself free to interpret
as he pleases; and so, as has been said, the same poem
which delights the libertine will raise the saint to ecstasy. ^

j_ There are again many poets who are primarily artists in
words ; these take such things for what they are worth as
decorative adjuncts, and work them into their verses to
produce some desired aesthetical effect. For it mvist be
borne in mind that while many among the Turkish poets were
truly Siifis, and some even devoted their whole strength to
the exposition and elucidation of their doctrine, others, and
they are perhaps the majority, merely play with Sufi ideas
and Sufi phrases. When the Turks took over the Persian
poetic system they found these ideas and phrases ready to
hand, and these became, along with many other things
similarly acquired, so many 'studio properties' for the poet,
to be introduced into his works as occasion might suggest.
At first sight it may appear strange that doctrines such
as we have been considering should flourish side by side
with the absolute monotheism of Islam. As a matter of fact,
however, Islam is much less rigid than is generally sup-
posed, and there are many passages in both the Koran and
the Hadis which readily lend themselves to a mystic inter-
pretation, ^ and with these the Sufis, who have almost in-
variably made profession of Islam, have strongly fortified
their position. But to properly understand this point, as
well as many another seeming puzzle that will come under
our observation, it is necessary to know, something of the
true nature of the Persian genius. As has been well said by
a thoughtful writer •^ who has seen deep into the Asian
mind, we must ever keep before us the fact that while the
European seeks almost unconsciously to impart a homo-
geneity to his conceptions by rejecting whatever is incompatible
with the beliefs he holds or embraces, the Eastern, for whom

1 Mr. lirowiie quotes several in the article already mentioned.

2 The Conte de Gobineau in 'Les Religions et les Philosophies dans I'Asie
Centrale,' Paris 1865.

exactitude has no such charm, is more concerned to pre-
serve from loss or obhvion every minutest idea which the
mind of man has conceived. The exactitude so dear to the
European is distressful to the Asiatic in that it tends to
circumscribe the flig4it of his imagination. He does not eek
to make diverse theories and conceptions square with one
another, nor does he perceive what would be the utility
of such an operation; these diverse theories and ideas are
for him so many different windows opening upon different
aspects of the infinite; but he will brook no limitations in
his dealings with the limitless. From the earliest ages
Western Asia has been a hotbed of all manner of religious
theories, not one of which has ever been wholly forgotten.
More or less modified or disguised, these appear and reappear
again and again ; and during the course of the centuries
they have given birth to numberless religious and philoso-
phic systems all of which live on in one form or another.
So in the mind of the Eastern thinker, intent to learn and
retain all he can concerning spiritual things, there generally
exist side by side fragments of many such systems often
contrary one to the other as well as incompatible with some
among the tenets of his avowed religion.

Though natural to the Persian, such an intellectual state
as this is really quite foreign to the Turk who, as we have y_
seen, is properly a man of action, not a speculator or
dreamer. None the less the condition of mind just described
is that which is most frequently mirrored in Ottoman poetry,
and this simply because the Turkish poets here as elsewhere
deliberately set to work to assimilate their thought to that
of the Persians.

The dervish orders, which are very numerous in Turkey
and Persia, and which bear a certain resemblance to the
monastic orders of medieval Europe, are all more or less

connected with Sufiism. Each order traces its origin to some
eminent Sufi sage or saint, whose name it usually bears ;
but although the members have always called themselves
Sufis, in many cases they have paid but scant attention to
their patron's teaching.

This last circumstance gave an additional impetus to a
curious practice of the Persian and Turkish poets, namely,
that of bitterly denouncing 'the Siifi' while themselves Sufis
of the purest water. This seemingly paradoxical attitude of
the poets arose in the first instance from the fact that the
learning and piety of the early Sufis having gained for them
a great reputation and attracted to them numerous disciples,
there sprang up on every hand unscrupulous adventurers
who gave themselves out as Sufis, and collected around
them bands of dissolute and hypocritical fanatics. These
the illiterate multitude taking at their own value, called by
their unjustly usurped title of Sufi; and when the poets
rail against 'the Sufi,' it is pretenders of this class, the
' Sufis' of the ignorant masses, that they have in view. *

Turning now to the external aspect of this poetry, we find

that although at the outset Turkish verse was simple even

to baldness, no sooner is the influence of Persia securely

established than we are in the midst of a wilderness of

ornament. Persian rhetoric is the counterpart of Persian art ; ^

and that, as everyone knows, is essentially decorative. Its^

merits, and they are great, lie exclusively in the beauty of

its detail; the principle of the subordination of the parts

' In Older to avoid confusion I shall in this work employ the term ' Sufi
exclusively in its true sense of 'mystic;' although it is more often used by
the Turkish poets in its second and degraded sense, in which case it is
commonly pronounced Sofu. The poets, when speaking of the true mystics,
sometimes wished to avoid the now dubious title of Sufi; they then generally
employed some such term as ' Lovers ' ('Ushshaq), ' Followers of Sufiism' (Ehl-i
Tasavvuf), ' Followers of the Esoteric' (Ehl-i Batin), or ' Sheykhs ' (Mesha'ikh).

to the whole is unknown. In like manner is Persian poetry
enveloped in a mass of incongruous and unconnected orna-
ment. Metaphors and similes, homonyms and anagrams, and
a host of other rhetorical embellishments, for many of which
we have no names in English, crowd on one another's heels,
and seem to jostle each other in tlicir eagerness to amaze
the reader. Individually these figures may be, and very often
are, both graceful and ingenious, but they are thrown together
without so much as a thought being given to their effect as
a whole. The result is certainly brilliant, sometimes dazzling,
but the dignity which comes of restraint and orderly pro-
cession is not there.

In this again Persian poetry faithfully mirrors the Oriental
genius. As we have just learned, the Eastern is far more
alive to the details of a subject than he is to the subject
taken as a whole. This mental attitude is maintained in the
presence of all phenomena, psychical and material alike ;
the true Oriental is ever in the. position of the man who
cannot see the wood on account of the trees. We have seen
one result of this in the medley of fragments of heterogeneous
systems that makes up his philosophy, we have here another
in the chaos of promiscuous ornament that forms the decorative
element in his poetry. Be it said in passing that through
this mental habit, whereby so many aspects of a subject
are simultaneously perceived, there arises a certain vacillation
of judgment whicli in practical affairs has led to many
disasters ; for it is through this, as the author already quoted '
has pointed out, that the Easterns, both as individuals and
as nations, have, for all their courage and intelligence, been
so often the victims of Europeans in many respects inferior
to themselves, but possessed of a decision and resolution to
which they are strangers.

1 Conte de Gobineau.

A poetry which wantons, as does the Persian, in every
kind of ambiguity of expression and far-fetched conceit must
inevitably be extremely artificial; and artificiality is in fact
one of the most prominent characteristics of this poetry. ^
But this by no means necessarily implies lack of sincerity :
for there have been in many literatures periods when it was
natural to seek out subtleties of fancy and curiosities of
language. '

The poetry of Persia is moreover intensely subjective,
especially in those two branches, the lyric and the romanticj^*^
which have been most largely reproduced in Turkish. The
poet rarely deals with external objects exclusively on their ,
own merits. When he sings, as he constantly does, of wine
and beauties, of roses and nightingales, it is not to tell of
...^hese as they are in themselves. What seems to strike him
first and with greatest force is, not the effect which these
produce upon his senses, but the suggestions they evoke in
his mind. This is perhaps only what we should expect in
the lyric poetry, but in the romantic we might have looked
for a more objective treatment. To a limited extent we find
such, more especially in early times; but the story — there
are some dozen or so stories told and retold by poet after
poet — is the least important part of a Persian romantic
poem ; it is but the excuse which the writer makes for the
exposition of his doctrine, or may be merely for the display
of his literary skill ; and more often than not it is finally
explained away altogether as an allegory.

Similarly, this poetry is highly conventional. It is replete
with what are called stock epithets; the 'moon-face,' the
'cypress-form,' the 'ruby-lip,' occur with wearisome reiteration
right through from the very beginning. In the same way,

' For example, the poetry of the Troubadours, and that of the so-called
' metaphysical ' poets in England.

what we may term stock associations abound ; when the
'nightingale' is mentioned we may be sure the 'rose' is not
far away, and if we read of the 'moth' in one Hne we may
feel safe about meeting the 'taper* in the next. But for all i
this, Persian poetry shows, within certain limits, extraordinary
fertility of imagination, and not unfrequently an almost super-
gracefulness both of thought and expression.

Such then is the nature of the poetry which Persia offered
to the Turks, and which they, knowing of no other, accepted
in its entirety, although it was in man\- respects out of
harmony with the genius of their race. So the first Ottoman
poets — and their successors through many a generation —
strove with all their strength to write what is little else than
Persian poetry in Turkish words. But such was not consciously
their aim; of national feeling in poetry they dreamed not;
poetry was to them one and indivisible, the language in
which it was written merely an unimportant accident.

I have said that the spirit of Persian poetry is in many
ways foreign to the Turkish genius; in some the two are
directly opposed. The Turkish nature is simple, the Persian
subtle. The objectivity of the Turkish popular songs is not
less extreme than the subjectivity of Persian literary verse.
Although from time to time it would strive to utter a feeble
cry, for nearly four hundred years the Turkish spirit remained
practically dumb in Turkish poetry, paralyzed in presence
of the overmastering genius of Persia. But about the beginning
of the eighteenth century the voice of the national spirit^
begins to be heard more clearly^ and persistently in the pages
of the poets. A more objective note is struck, and the poet
finds a manifest pleasure in singing of the things he actually
sees and feels, not merely of those he has read about in
^ome Persian book. A blithe and happy tone pervades his
lines, and a frank honest delight in life and the joys of life.

The simple, pleasure-loving, happy-go-lucky Turkish spirit
is at last allowed, not indeed to speak, but to whisper
in Turkish poetry. But Turkish poetry was still far from
being that which but for Persian teaching it might have been ;
there yet marred it many a fleck and many a flaw never
wholly washed away till the reformers of our own day swept
every vestige of Persian tradition into the limbo of forgotten
things.

And so, helpful and beneficial as it in many ways un-
doubtedly was, guiding their timorous footsteps into the
worlds of thought and art, Persian culture was yet upon the
whole an ill-starred dower to the Turks. For with all the
A beauty and nobleness that invest it, Persian poetry seems
^i^to possess the Gorgon power of paralyzing the national spirit
in the literature of every people that looks up to it. The
poetry of Afghan, of Tartar, of Urdu-writing Indian is all,
equally with that of the earlier Ottomans, just so much Persian
poetry writ in other tongues; in every case the national
spirit is silent, the spirit that speaks is that of Persia.

Moreover, just about the time that Ottoman poetry was*
definitively taking shape, the creative genius of Persia was
stricken with a sterility from which it has never since recovered.
What Persian poetry was in the fifteenth century, that to
all intents and purposes it is to-day. During the intervening
period it has indeed passed through several phases, but these
have been marked merely by modifications in manner and
diction; there has been no radical change from within, no
infusion of fresh life from without. What the poets said in
* the days of Jami they have gone on saying, varying from
time to time the expressions and the metaphors, but never
altering the substance or adding to the themes.

And thus for centuries Turkish poetry was, thanks to
Persian precept and example, employed, not in interpreting

the Turkish genius, not in conquering new rcahii.s of thought,
but in achieving within one narrow circle ever more brilHant
and more subtle masterpieces of rhetoric. It is true that from
the rugged Tartar dialect with which they started, the Per-
sianising poets evolved a marvellous literary language so
brilliant and so harmonious that the study of it is an aesthetic
delight. But this beautiful language is so artificial, so far
removed from everyday speech, that it has at all times been \^
incomprehensible to ordinary men.

Thus Ottoman literary poetry has always been a closed
book to the mass of the people. Without a special education
no man could hope to understand it. The poets therefore
wrote either for themselves or for the court; of the people
they took no heed. To be a poet when Persian culture was
at its height must obviously have demanded a more than
ordinary education; and so we find that during that long
period when poetry was valued in proportion as the learning
was recondite and the rhetoric pretentious that adorned it, \l.
by far the greater number of its practitioners were members
of the 'Ulema. >

To point out the defects of such a poetry as this, — its

artificiality, its obscurity, its exclusiveness, — is easy; to

indicate its merits is less so. And this is because this poetry

is before all things an art; and, to be appreciated, the merits

of art-work of every kind must be felt rather than described.

The old poets are in the first place stylists, and any attempt

to explain beauties and subtleties of style to those ignorant

' The word '^Ulemd means literally 'learned men.' It is the collective title
of the body of doctors of the canon law of Islam, who form the legal coun-
cillors of the state. In old times its members were par excellence the learned
class, and naturally many among them played a great part in the history
of Ottoman poetry. The organisation of the corps, which was at first simple,
gradually became verj- complicated ; but as some idea of it is necessary to a
satisfactory understanding of the lives of many of the poets of the Second
and later Periods, a sketch of it will be given in another volume.

of the poets' language were manifestly hopeless. With these
poets manner comes before matter; what they say interests
them comparatively little, the great point is how to say it.
A score of themes sufficed them for centuries; these they
present again and again, arrayed in ever increasing beauty
of language and begemmed with ever subtler ingenuities of
fancy, till their work comes to display a harmony of sound,
a brilliancy of wit, and a deftness of manipulation capable
of affording a keen aesthetic pleasure to those who by taste
and education are fitted to receive it.

This was the goal of the Persianising poets, and they
reached it.

b^-

CHAPTER II.

Tradition, PiiiLosoriiv and Mysticism.

Among the Turks, as among the other peoples of Islam,
intellectual life sprang from two distinct sources, of which
the one was Semitic, the other Hellenic. From the first
came religion, from the second came philosophy. Both
religion and philosophy professed to interpret the universe;
and the interpretations which they gave were not always in
harmony. The vast majority of the vulgar and unlearned
held exclusively by religion and utterly ignored philosophy,
of which indeed they knew nothing. So did many among
the more educated, who, though not wholly ignorant of
philosophy, looked upon it with abhorrence as contrary to
the revealed Word. Among the learned, while a few were
philosophers and nothing else, though out of prudence they
professed conformity to the popular faith, the majority,
whatever might be their outward profession, held a creed
which was in reality a compromise between the two, with
a strong bias in favour of philosophy. This creed, if creed
it can be called, was in great part the work of the Siifis
or mystics who sought, among other things, to clothe philo-
sophy in the language of religion; it was also to some
extent the work of the Mutekellimi'n or Scholastics who
endeavoured by a rational explanation of dogma to support

religion in the struggle with philosophy. But these last do
not concern us here, as almost all the Ottoman poets were
either Sufi's or men who wrote in the language of the Sufis.
As these poets, whether really Sufis or not, were perfectly
acquainted with and made frequent allusion to, not merely
the opinions and conceptions of their own sect, but those
of the orthodox and the philosophers, it will be necessary
for us to learn something concerning the tenets of all three
parties.

The views of the religious are in all essentials those contained
in the Jewish scriptures, and are consequently quite familiar
to us ; the only point that calls for special attention is their
elaborate cosmogony which was borrowed almost wholly from
Rabbinical traditions.

When God determined to manifest Himself through the
creation of the world the first thing that He summoned into
being was a glorious Radiance derived from His own Light.
This is now generally called the 'Light of Muhammed' (Nur-i
Muhammed) ' because in after ages it was incarnated in the
person of the last and greatest of the Prophets. When this
Light burst into existence God looked on it and loved it
and uttered this sentence, now one of the watch-words of
Islam, 'But for thee, verily I had not created the heavens! ' ^

' Sometimes the 'Light of Ahmed' (Nur-i Ahmed), Alimed being another
form of the name Muhammed.

.0,C^ 3 C,

2 lil jLs"^l u>.Ji^i> L*J ^i)^5 y . The heavens are not yet in existence, but
God speaks as though their creation were an accomplished fact. This seeming
discrepancy is thus explained. What we call 'time' exists not for God; in
His eyes what we call 'present,' 'past' and 'future' are one eternal Now. He
therefore sees things, in wlaat to us is the future, as already existent, and
speaks of them as accomplished facts. Instances of this abound in the Koran,
especially in passages describing the Last Day and Final Judgment. The
Koran, it must be remembered, professes to be the direct word of God; He
is the speaker from beginning to end; the Prophet is nothing more than
His ambassador charged with the delivery of His message to mankind.

And it was through this Light, and for its sake, that all
things were made. For when God looked in love upon this
Light, it ' perspired,' abashed before the Divine gaze ; and
from the subtlest essence that arose from its perspiration He
created the First Soul, and then in a descending scale the
souls of all the various orders of beings.

After a while God looked again upon the Light, and from
its perspiration He created the corporeal world. The first
thing that arose was the "^Arsh, the 'Throne of God,' ac-
cording to the usual interpretation ; in any case, the first and
most glorious of corporeal existences. Beneath the "^Arsh,
and of its light, God created another wondrous thing, which
is called the Kursi, and may be conceived as the 'Footstool'
below the Throne. '

God likewise created under the '^Arsh, and of its light, a
great 'Tablet' in colour as a green beryl, and a great 'Pen'
in colour as an emerald, and filled with ink which was of
white light. God cried to the Pen, 'Write, O Pen!' whereupon
it moved over the Tablet and wrote tliereon everything
that should happen till the Last Day, and the Tablet was
covered with the writing. ^ And thereon was then inscribed
the Divine original of the Glorious Koran.

Beneath the Kursi, but somewhat to the right hand, God
created a region like white pearl, in which is the 'Lote-tree
none may pass.' ^ And this is the station of the .\rchangel

' Both the words "^Arsh and Kursi occur in the Koran where both seem
to be used in the sense of 'Throne'

' This myth arose from a fanciful explanation of two passages in the
Koran, in the first of which (Ixviii, i.) Clod swears 'By the Pen and what
they write!' and in the second of which (Ixxxv, 22.) occur the words 'Verily
it is a glorious Lection on a T.iblct Preserved!'

' This tree is alluded to in the Koran (liii, 13, 14.), 'And he saw him
another time by the Lotc-trce none may pass; near which is the Garden of
the Abode.' — the reference being to the Prophet's vision of Gabriel on the
occasion of his Ascension.

Gabriel, beyond which he may not go. And in this place
is the root of the Tuba-tree.

In a straight line below the ^Arsh and Kursi, and of the
light of the former, God created the Eight Paradises. These
are arranged one within the other, in as many ascending
stages, the innermost and highest of all being the 'Garden
of Eden' (Jennet-i "^Adn) which overlooks all the others like
a citadel on a lofty eminence in the midst of a walled city. '
The distance between the ramparts that surround each Paradise
is six thousand six hundred and sixty-six degrees, and each
degree is a five-hundred years' journey. ^ The Paradises are
generally represented as lovely gardens studded with beautiful
palaces, the dwelling-places of the blessed. ^ They are watered
by many rivers, notably by the Kevser, the Tesnim and
the Selsebil, most of which have their source in the Garden
of Eden whence they descend into the lower stages. The
wonderful tree called the Tiiba or 'Beatitude,' the roots of

1 The names of the Eight Paradises, and the materials of which they are
formed, are as follows, beginning with the lowest: (i) ' The Mansion of Glory '

e-ijsUJ)-! (Dar-ul-Jelal) , of white pearl; (2) 'The Mansion of Peace ' (Dar-us-SeMm),

'( U) 'Ifi r °^ "^^^ ruby; (3) 'The Garden of the Abode' (Jennet-ul-Mewa), of green

. . • chrysolite ; (4) *• The Garden of Eternity ' (Jennet-ul-Khuld) of yellow coral ;

-/J/'C^_j^ (5) 'The Garden of Delight' (Jennet-un-Na'im), of white silver; (6) 'The

i)] i^ £< Garden of Paradise' (Jennet-ul-Firdevs), of red gold; (7) ' The Garden of Abid-

1' ance' (Jennet-ul-Qarar), of pure musk; (8) 'The Garden of Eden' (Jennet-ul-

-(j-^>y''^- V '■Adn), of lustrous pearl. Some writers, however, arrange the several stages

';;i:X-' ,L differently.

2 We are expressly told that these and similar expressions are not to be
'^ "^^ ' taken as actual measurements of distance; they are brought forward simply

in order to convey the idea of vastness.

3 It is perhaps scarcely necessary to refute once again the old calumny that
Islam denies a soul to woman. No Muhammedan ever propounded or ever
could propound any theory which could be so construed; and in face of the
fact that the Koran explicitly and repeatedly speaks of men and women as
equally heirs of eternity (ix, 69, 73; xiii, 22 — 23; xxxiii, 35; xxxvi,
56; xliii, 70; xlviii, 5, 6; Ivii, 12; Ixvi, 10:), it is difficult to imagine
any other source for the libel than the deliberate malice of certain Christian
writers.

which arc in the reijion of the Lotc-tree above the hisjhcst
Paradise, sends its branches down into all the Eight Gardens,
a shoot entering the abode of every inhabitant, just as the
sun which is aloft in the skies sends its beams into every
house on earth. The Garden of Eden is the scene of the
Beatific Vision, the Divine Epiphanies, the sight of which
will form the highest felicity of the blessed. The native in-
habitants of Paradise are the houris, ' maidens of celestial
beauty and possessed of every virtue, who will be the heavenly
brides and companions of the blessed, and the 'eternal youths'
who will be the attendants on the just. The guardianship
of Paradise is entrusted to an angel called Rizwan.

Beneath the Eight Paradises are six seas, below which
come the Seven Heavens. These latter are spread one above
the other like seven tents or canopies, their edges resting
on the seven outer of the eight ranges of Mount Qaf which,
as we shall see, surround the earth. In the first or lowest
Heaven is the so-called 'Frequented House' (Beyt-i Ma'^mur). ^
This, which is a great dome of red ruby, was originally in
the highest Paradise, the Garden of Eden, from which, on
Adam's expulsion and subsequent repentance, it was brought
to earth as a solace to him. It was placed where the Ka'^ba
of Mekka now stands, and Adam was bidden compass it,
as the pilgrims still compass the Ka'^ba; and the angels who
dwell in the Seven Heavens were commanded to descend
and perform the rite along with him. It remained on earth
till Noah's time, but before the flood it was caught up to
the spot in the howest Heaven immediately above where it
used to stand, and there it is daily visited by seventy thousand
angels, and there it will rest till the Last Day when it will

' Pronounced ' hoorees.'

2 This term occurs in the Koran (Hi, 4.) where God swears by the Fre-
quented House; but no description of it is given.

be taken back to its original place in Paradise. Abraham, at
God's command, built the Ka^ba where the Frequented House
formerly stood, so that were this to fall from Heaven, it
would light upon the Ka^ba. The famous Black Stone, which
is in the Ka^ba, and which all the pilgrims kiss, is a relic
of the Frequented House ; originally it was a red ruby, but
at the flood God changed it into a black stone.

Immediately below the lowest Heaven is a sea of water;
this lies above the air, and not a drop of it can fall through
the air. Through this sea swim the sun, moon and stars,
all under angelic guidance. Below this stellar sea, in the
midst of the sea of air, half-way between heaven and earth,
is another sea of water, whence rain is sent down to earth.
An angel descends with every drop of rain, and lays it in
its appointed place; these angels do not crowd one another,
for they are incorporeal beings made of light.

The earth, which is flat, is surrounded, as by an eight-
fold ring, by the eight mountain-chains of Qaf; these alternate
with the Seven Seas, the innermost Qaf being within the
innermost of the Seas, which bears the name of the 'Encircling
Ocean' (Bahr-i Muhit). The breadth of each Qaf and of each
Sea is a five-hundred years' journey; and round the outermost
Qaf, which is outside of all, is wound a great snake. Only
a small part of the earth's surface is inhabited, the proportion
of this to the uninhabited being as the space enclosed by
a tent to the desert in which the tent is pitched. It is in
these unpeopled lands and in the unknown regions of the
Qafs and the Seven Seas, where dwell the jinn, that the
tellers of fairy tales lay many of the scenes of their romances.

The earth we inhabit is the uppermost of seven, which
are arranged one below the other like so many stages. At
first this series of earths was unstable and tossed about
like a ship on the surrounding seas ; so God ordered a great

angel to grasp it and steady it on his shoulders. Under this
angel God set a mighty rock, and under the rock a huge
Bull, and under the Bull a great Fish, ' and under the Fish
an ocean, and under the ocean the seven stages of Hell,
and under those a tempestuous wind, and under that a
darkness, and under that a veil : and beyond this the knowledge
of man goeth not.

The cosmogony which has just been outlined, though known
to all, was accepted in its entirety only by the illiterate and
the more narrow-minded of the ultra-orthodox ; the views
of the learned were for the most part far more in accordance
with the teachings of philosophy. The philosophy of the
Turks is of course derived directly from the Persian and
Arabic writers, but it is ultimately Greek, being little more
than a modification of the Neo-Platonism of the fifth and
sixth centuries which combined Aristotelianism with the
mysticism of lamblichus. In Turkey the philosophers, while
accepting the Alexandrian doctrine of Emanations, gave their
chief attention to the Aristotelian aspect of the system; the
Sufis, on the other hand, while acquiescing in the Aristotelian
explanations of natural phenomena, devoted themselves almost
exclusively to the theosophical side.

We shall deal firstly with the more strictly philosophical
matters, which were accepted by both parties, and afterwards
we shall consider the peculiar tenets of the Sufis.

Philosophy is divided into two great branches, namely,
'Theoretic or Speculative Philosophy' (Hikmet-i Nazariyc),
which treats of matters beyond human control, and 'Practical

' In the names 0^.*iJ Bchemiit(?) and LaJjJ Levitiya(?), sometimes given
respectively to this Bull and Fish, we seem to recognise the Behemoth and
Leviathan of the Book of Job.

Philosophy' (Hikmet-i '^Amah'ye), which treats of matters
within human control. Each of these has three subdivisions.
Those of Theoretic Philosophy are: (i) 'Metaphysic' or 'Theo-
logy' C^IIm-i Ilahi), which treats of beings essentially incorporeal,
as the 'First Cause' (Mebde-i Evvel), ' the Intelligences and
the Souls. (2) ' Mathematic' (^Ilm-i Riyazi), - which treats of
things conceivable by the mind as existing apart from
matter, but which can have no objective existence save in
matter, such as quantities and magnitudes and geometrical
figures. This subdivision has four departments, namely, Astron-
omy, Geometry, Arithmetic and Music. (3) 'Physic' C^Ilm-i
Tabi^i), which deals with things not to be conceived as existing
apart from matter, as the Four Elements and all composed
of them. ^ The three subdivisions of Practical Philosophy
are: (i) 'Ethic' ("^Ilm-i Akhlaq), which treats of the duty of
man considered as an individual. (2) 'Oeconomic' C^Ilm-i
Tedbir-ul-Menzil), which treats of the duty of man considered
as a member of a family or household. (3) 'Politic' C^Ilm-i
Tedbir-ul-Medine), which treats of the duty of man considered
as a member of a community or state. **

All these subdivisions of philosophy are worked out in
detail; but to examine them all, even in the most cursory
manner, would be quite outside the scope of this work. We
shall therefore look only at those points which will assist

1 The ' First Cause ' of philosophy is God in the language of religion.

2 Literally, ' Disciplinary Science. ' This name comes from the fact that the
old philosophers used to teach this subdivision to their disciples in order to
discipline their youthful minds before starting on the more conjectural subjects
of Metaphysic and Physic. For every point in this subdivision is demonstrable
by proof, and ' the mind of youth craveth absolute demonstration.'

3 Metaphysic is also called 'the Higher Science' C^Ilm-i A'^la); Mathematic,
'the Intermediate Science' C^Ilm-i Evsat); Physic, 'the Lower Science' (''llm-i
Esfel).

* It will be observed that there is no place for 'Logic' C^Ilm-i Mantiq) in
this scheme : the reason is that Logic was regarded not as in itself a science,
but as the instrument by the aid of which the sciences were to be investigated.

us in our study of the poets, passing by the others, which
include the whole of the Practical branch and all the de-
partments of Mathcmatic except Astronomy. '

All conceivable existence is either (i) 'Necessary' (Wajib-
ul-Vujud), or (2) 'Possible' or 'Contingent' (Mumkin-ul-Vujiid),
or (3) 'Impossible' (Mumteni'-ul-Vujud) ; but as the third of
these, an example of which would be a co-equal of the First
Cause, cannot be, existence is actually limited to the Necessary
and the Possible. The existence which is independent of
another existence is Necessary; the existence which is de-
pendent on another existence is Possible or Contingent (both
terms are applied to the same existence). The only existence
which is independent of another existence is that of the
First Cause, so the First Cause is the only Necessarily
Existent; the existence of every thing else is merely Con-
tingent. The existence of the Contingent is the proof of
the existence of the Necessary, since what is depended on
must exist ere the thing that depends on it can exist.

Contingents, collectively considered, are called ' the Universe '
C^Alem) ; so the First Cause plus the Universe represents the
sum of existent things.

Every Contingent is either dependent on the existence of
another Contingent, or it is not. If it is not, it is called
'Substance' (Jevhcr); if it is, it is called 'Accident' ("Araz). ^

' The classical Turkish' work on Practical Philosophy is the Akhldq-i "^Ala'i.
The author Qinali-zade "^Ali, who died in 979 (157 1-2), was the father of
Qinali-zade Hasan, the compiler of a very important work on the lives of
the Ottoman poets, to which we shall constantly refer in the progress of our
History. The title Akhldq-i '^Ala'i, which may be rendered by 'The Exalted
Ethics,' contains an allusion to the name of the vezir ".\li Pasha to whom
the book is dedicated. It was printed at Bvllaq in 1248 (1832-3).

* The ' Ten Categories ' (Maqiilat-i "^Ashere) arc the highest classes to
which Contingents may be referred. They are: ' Substance' (Jevher), 'Quantity '
(Kern), 'Quality' (Keyf), 'Place' (Eyn), 'Time' (Meta), 'Rcl.ition' (Izafct),
'Possession' (Mulk), 'Situation' (Waz'), 'Activity' (Fa"!), 'Passivity' (Infi'al).

The genesis of the Universe is on this wise: Without
suffering any alteration or diminution thereby, the First
Cause rays out from Its own fulness an image of Itself, the
first of a series of emanations or projections in which the
proportion of Real (i. e. Necessary) Being diminishes as they
recede from the Centre. This first emanation is pure thought,
and is called the 'First' or 'Universal Intelligence' fAql-i
Evvel, ^Aql-i Kull). ' It has three sides or aspects: (i) the
'Divine' (Haqq), through virtue of which it knows the First
Cause; (2) the 'Psychic' (Nefs), through virtue of which it
knows itself; (3) the 'Dependent' (Muhtaj), through virtue
of which it knows its dependence on its Lord. ^ From each
of these three aspects of the First Intelligence there proceeds
a different emanation, the law being that from one source
but one thing can proceed, i. e. a thing cannot communicate
to its own production anything other than itself. From the
Divine aspect flows the 'Second Intelligence ;' from the Psychic
aspect, the 'First' or 'Universal Soul' (Nefs-i Evvel, Nefs-i
Kull); ^ from the Dependent Aspect, the 'Sphere of Spheres'
or 'Universal Body;' this last, as we shall see immediately,
is the outermost of the nine concentric spheres or heavens
that enclose the elemental world. From the three aspects
of the Second Intelligence proceed in like manner the Third
Intelligence, the Second Soul and the Sphere of the Fixed
Stars. This process is continued till we reach the Tenth
Intelligence, the Ninth Soul and the Sphere of the Moon,
all produced from the Ninth Intelligence ; so that there are

' This is the Nous of Plotinus and his successors, the Logos of Philo.

2 These three aspects are sometimes described as (i) Vujud or '•All-com-
prising Existence,' i. e. that existence which comprehends both the Necessary
and the Contingent; (2) Vujub or 'Necessary Existence;' (3) Imkan or 'Con-
tingent Existence.'

3 Often called, especially by Siifis and poets, the ' Cosmic Soul ' or ' World-
Soul ' (Jau-i '^Alem, Jan-i Jihan). It is the Psyche of the Neo-Platonists.

in all Ten Intelligences, Nine Souls and Nine Spheres. The
Tenth Intelligence bears the special name of the 'Active
Intelligence' ("Aql-i Fa"al), as it is sufficiently removed from
the centre of pure spirit to be materialized to the point
when it can act directly on the elemental world.

Interwoven with this doctrine of emanations is, as we have
just seen, the Ptolemaic system of cosmography. ' Around
the central, stationary earth revolves a series of nine hollow
concentric shells called Spheres or Heavens, arranged one
within the other 'like the coats of an onion.' To each of
the seven innermost of these is fastened one of the Seven
Planets, which are thus carried round by the spheres in their
revolution. These seven planetary spheres are in order,
starting from the innermost: (i) that of the Moon, (2) that
of Mercury, (3) that of Venus, (4) that of the Sun, (5) that
of Mars, (6) that of Jupiter, (7) that of Saturn. Outside these
is the Eighth Sphere, that of the Fixed Stars, outside which,
and outermost of all, comes the Ninth Sphere, which is
called the 'Sphere of Spheres' (Felek-ul-Eflak) as it encloses all
the others, or the 'Most Great Sphere' (Cherkh-i A'zam)
as it is the mightiest of all, or the ' Fleckless Sphere' (Cherkh-i
Atlcs) - as, carrying no star, it is without spot or mark. ^

1 It is very necessary for us to have some acquaintance with this system,
as it alone was recognised by the Turkish' poets down to the rise of the
New School, and allusions to it are innumerable. The Turks were not un-
acquainted with the other astronomic systems; both the Tychonic and the
Copernican are described by Katib Chelebi in the Jihdn-Numa or 'Belvedere,'
which he left unfinished at his death in 1068 (1657-8); but the poets, in
their verses at any rate, preferred to adhere to the time-honoured system of
their fathers.

2 The word 'aties,' which properly means 'unfigured' i.e. 'unembroidered,'
is used as the name for 'satin,' whence comes an infinity of equivoques.

3 This, which is the Primum Mobile of the Middle Ages, is also called
the 'Limiter of Directions' (Muhaddid-ul-Jihat), as beyond it the 'six direc-
tions' i.e. before, behind, right, left, above and below, have no existence;
and the ' Universal Body ' (Jism-i KuU), as it is the body which contains all
other bodies.

The universe thus presents the appearance of a vast ball,
the outside of which is formed by the convex surface of
the Ninth Sphere. What, if anything, lies beyond this Sphere,
whether there be 'vacuum' (khala) or 'plenum' (mela) there,
though often asked, is known to none.

Each of these Nine Spheres or Heavens has an Intelligence
and a Soul as well as a body. ' The Intelligence of the Sphere
of Spheres is the Second Intelligence, and its Soul is the
Universal Soul ; the Intelligence of the Sphere of the Fixed
Stars is the Third Intelligence, and its Soul is the Second
Soul, and so on, the Intelligence of the Sphere of the Moon
being the Tenth, and its Soul the Ninth.

The Nine Spheres revolve, at different velocities, round
the earth. The eight inner have two motions, one from west
to east, which is proper to them, and which is 'voluntary'
(iradi) or 'natural' (tabi'^i), and one from east to west, which
is forced on them by the Ninth Sphere, and which is called
'compulsory' (qasri). ^ The Ninth Sphere has a swift motion
from east to west, effecting its revolution once in twenty-
four hours, and carrying with it all the inner spheres. ^

1 In theological language the Intelligences and Souls would be called
Archangels.

2 The motion of the inner spheres relative to that of the ninth is illustrated
by the example of an ant creeping round the upper stone of a quern or hand-
mill which is being turned in the opposite direction. As the ant, although
it is borne round l^y the stone, still makes a little progress in the direction
which itself desires, so the eight inner spheres, though carried round by the
ninth, still progress slowly along their ' natural ' course.

3 From this theory of the revolutions of the spheres arose a fancy which
plays a very prominent part in poetry. Astrology was universally accepted,
and men believed that the planets, directly or indirectly, exercised a far-
reaching influence on mundane affairs. The nature of this influence depended
very largely on the position of the planets relative to one another. Now this
relative position was changing every moment owing to the rotation of the
spheres, the eight inner revolving slowly, as we have seen, in their natural
course, while the ninth whirled them all round in the opposite direction once
in every twenty-four hours. This idea led the poets to represent the Ninth

The Nine Spheres ' are all transparent and therefore in-
visible; they and the stars they carry consist of ether, a
substance which has no movement other than spatial, ^ and
no motion other than circular, but which diminishes in purity
as it approaches the centre of the universe. They fit closely
into one another, so that there is no empty space between
the inner or concave surface of one and the outer or convex
surface of that immediately within it.

Within the hollow of the Sphere of the Moon lies the
elemental world. The basis of this is no longer ether, but
'Matter' (Heyula), and immanent in Matter is 'Form' (Suret),
without which its actualized existence is impossible. Form
is in two degrees: 'Corporeal Form' (Suret-i Jismi'ye), and
'Specific Form' (Siiret-i Nev^iye). Matter, in combination
with the first of these, produces 'Body in tlie Abstract'^
(Jism-i Mutlaq); and this, in combination with the second,
produces the ' Individual Body.' Matter may in this con-
nection be compared to the human breath, and Corporeal
Form to sound, then the human voice, which is the result
of the combination of human breath and sound, will correspond
to Body in the Abstract, which is the result of the combination

Sphere, the rapid motion of which occasions these sudden changes in the
positions of the planets, as a kind of evil power; and they are never tired
of railing against its malignity and the delight it takes in frustrating human
hopes and plans through the influences of those ever-shifting aspects of the
planets brought about by the ceaseless rush of its revolution.

' In order to account for the various movements of the planets the seven
inner spheres were supposed to contain one or more 'subordinate spheres'
(efldk-i juz'iye), such as the 'deferent' (hamil), the 'epicycle' (tedvi'r), and
so on ; but it is not necessary for the student of poetry to be acquainted
with these details.

2 Movement is of three kinds: 'Quantitative Movement,' i.e. increase and
decrease, (hareket-i kemi'ye): 'Qualitative Movement,' i.e. alteration, (harckct-i
keyfiye): and 'Spatial Movement,' i.e. locomotion, (hareket-i cyniye).

' 'Body' (jism) is defined as that which possesses length, breadth and
depth, and is therefore divisible.

of Matter and Corporeal Form; in the same way, Specific
Form will represent the power of the several letters, for
this, in combination with sound, produces individual words,
just as Specific Form, in combination with Body in the
Abstract, produces individual bodies.

Matter is susceptible of every Form ; it has been likened
in this respect to wax, and Form to the impressions the
wax can receive. The Form is continually changing; the
Matter is always the same. Matter is the substratum of which
every sublunary body consists. Form is what gives to every
body its individuality. But while Matter is thus looked on
as passive rather than active, it must yet be regarded as
having some power of its own, as it is from it that arises
the necessity which limits and holds back both man and
nature in their efforts towards self-realisation, and as it is
due to its resistance that the soul can ascend only by degrees
from the lower to the higher stages. Matter is therefore
generally considered as essentially evil.

The first manifestation of Specific Form is in the 'Four
Elements:' 'Fire,' 'Air,' 'Water' and 'Earth.' The arrange-
ment of the elemental world is, like that of the ethereal, a
series of concentric, spherical layers. As Fire is the lightest
and subtlest of the Four, its region is the highest, lying
within and touching the concave surface of the Sphere of
the Moon. In its pure state Fire is colourless and trans-
parent, consequently the Sphere of Fire is invisible. Next
comes the Sphere of Air, » that element being somewhat
denser than Fire. Within this is the Sphere of Water, denser
still ; and within the Sphere of Water is the Sphere of Earth,
densest of all things in existence. The Earth thus forms the

1 The Sphere of Air is subdivided into three 'strata' (tabaqat). The Sphere
of Fire and the highest stratum of the Sphere of Air, though by their own
nature stationary, arc carried round by the Sphere of the Moon in its revolution.

core of the universe, and the centre of the earth is the Centre
of the Universe. The Sphere of Earth was orit^inally entirely
surrounded by the Sphere of Water; but owing to some
reason — the explanations vary — the Water withdrew from the
higher portions of the uneven surface of Earth and settled
in the hollows, thus leaving certain parts of the surface of the
Earth in contact with the concave surface of the Sphere of Air. '
The Four Elements arc distinguished from one another
by their 'Natures' (Tabayi*^) or 'Qualities' (Keyfiyat). These
are in each case twofold: Fire is dry and hot, Air is hot
and moist. Water is moist and cold. Earth is cold and dry.
The elements are continually passing into one another through
the medium of that quality they possess in common ; thus
fire can pass into air through the medium of heat, air into
water through the medium of moisture, and so on. In all
those changes it is only the form that alters; the matter of
which the elements (and therefore all sublunary bodies) are
made never changes, however manifold and diverse be the
forms manifested through it. This process of transmutation
of the simple elements, which is called' 'Generation and
Corruption' (Kevn u Fesad), -^ is brought about by the in-

' The geographers divide the surface of the tefirestrial globe into two parts :
land and water. The land part they subdivide into halves by the equator.
That to the south is reckoned uninhabitable through the greatness of the
heat. That to the north alone is peopled and cultivated. This is called the
' Habitable Quarter ' (Rub'^-i Meskiin), and is divided into seven zones by as
many imaginary lines drawn parallel to the equator, the space between the
seventh and the north pole being reckoned uninhabitable through the greatness
of the cold. The seven zones are famous as the '■ Seven Climates," and the
countries and cities situated in each are carefully noted; but it is enough
for us to know that the First Climate is that next to the equator, and the
Seventh that farthest from it.

2 In this phrase 'Corruption' means Matter's putting off a particular form,
' Generation ' its assumption of another form. The one cannot occur without
the other, and both are in ceaseless operation in the elemental world, the
world of change.

fluences of the Seven Planets, ' and results in the production
of the three classes of compound bodies, namely, Minerals,
Vegetables and Animals. The Seven Planets are therefore
often called the 'Seven Sires' (Aba-i Seb'a) ; the Four
^ip, Elements, the 'Four Mothers' (Ummehat-i Erba'a) ; and the
three classes of compound bodies, the 'Threefold Offspring'
(Mewalid-i Selase). The class of Animals reaches its goal in
'Man' (Insan).

This brings us to Psychology. There are three degrees of
soul: the 'Soul Vegetable' (Nefs-i Nebati'ye), the 'Soul
Sensible' — lit. 'Soul Animal' — (Nefs-i Haywaniye), and
the 'Soul Reasonable' (Nefs-i Natiqa). ^ The first, which
corresponds to what we should call the vital principle, is
shared in common by plants, brutes and man; its functions
are growth, nourishment and reproduction. The second, which
represents the principle of sensation or perception, is confined
to brutes and man; its functions are sensation and voluntary
movement. The third, the principle of reason, belongs to
man alone; and its function is reason. The individual human
soul, in which all these combine, is thus threefold, but it
is only the Reasonable element that survives death. Yet it is
the same soul which having begun its terrestrial life in the
mineral, pushes up, as swiftly as the opposition of matter
will allow, through the plant and the brute to man, developing,
as it ascends, its latent powers, till at last it is able to

1 This was the opinion of the physicists 5 the metaphysicians held the
Tenth or Active Intelligence to be the agent. See p. 43. Both views are
recognised by the poets and Sdfi's.

2 The theories here dealt with prevailed throughout Christendom as well
as throughout Islam during the Middle Ages. They are expounded in English
in the volume entitled '■ Batman uppon Bartholome, his Booke " De Proprie-
tatibus Rerum,"' London, 1582. This work, which is said to have been origin-
ally written in Latin about the middle of the thirteenth century by an
English Franciscan friar named Bartholomew, is practically an encyclopaedia
of medieval science.

discard as now useless crutches those faculties by means of
which it has progressed so far upon its journey.

The Soul \''egetable possesses four faculties called 'Powers'
or 'Virtues.' These are: (i) the 'Virtue Nutritive' (Quvvet-i
Ghadiya), by which the organism supplies the waste of the
body; (2) the 'Virtue Augmentative' (Quvvet-i Nami'ye), by
which ui) to a certain period of life the organism grows>
i.e. increases in length, breadth and depth; (3) the 'Virtue
Generative ' (Quvvet-i Aluvellide), by which the organism,
through detaching a portion of itself, produces another similar
individual; and (4) the 'Virtue Informative' (Quvvet-i Mu-
savvira), by which the aforesaid detached portion, if it fall
into a suitable place, is moulded into its proper form and
fashioned into a similar individual. These four 'Virtues' or
faculties are served by four others: (i) the 'Virtue Attractive'
(Quvvet-i Jazibe), by which the organism draws to itself the
material proper for its nourishment; (2) the 'Virtue Retentive'
(Quvvet-i Masike), by which it retains the food in the proper
place until digested ; (3) the ' Virtue Digestive ' (Quvvet-i
Hazime), by which it converts the food into matter proper
for the reparation of the waste of the body; and (4) the
'Virtue Expulsive' (Quvvet-i Dafi^a), by which it casts forth
what is superfluous. ^

The Soul Sensible has two faculties: the 'Virtue Motive'
(Quvvet-i Muharrike), and the 'Virtue Apprehensive' (Quvvet-i
Mudrike). The Virtue Motive is of two kinds: the 'Virtue
Concupiscible' (Quvvet-i Shehviye), bj' which the animal seeks
to obtain what it takes to be good; and the 'Virtue Irascible'
(Quvvet-i Ghazabi'ya), by which it seeks to shun what it

' Several of these medieval terms have been retained in the terminology
of modern science, though the application, of course, is changed; thus the
names Quvve-i Jazibe, Quvve-i Masike, Quvve-i Ddfi'a, are nowadays applied
to the forces of Attraction, Cohesion and Repulsion, respectively.

takes to be evil. This Virtue Motive acts through the im-
pulsion of the Virtue Apprehensive, which is served by the
'Five Outer' and the 'Five Inner Wits' or 'Senses.' The
former are, of course, 'Touch,' 'Smell,' 'Taste,' 'Hearing'
and 'Sight;' the latter are the 'Common Wit' or 'Sense'
(Hiss-i Mushterik), the 'Fantasy' (Khayal) , the 'Virtue
Estimative' (Quvvet-i Wahime), the 'Virtue Memorative'
(Quvvet-i Hafiza) and the 'Virtue Ordinative' (Quvvet-i
Mutasarrifa). The Common Sense is the recipient of all the
perceptions conveyed from without by the five outer senses;
it has been compared to a pond into which five streams
flow. Its seat is in the front part of the foremost of the
three brain-cells. • The Fantasy is the store-house of the
perceptions received by the Common Sense; thus so long
as an object is before us its image is reflected in the Common
Sense, but as soon as it passes from before us its image
passes from the Common Sense and is relegated to the
Fantasy. The seat of the Fantasy is in the back part of the
foremost brain-cell. The Virtue Estimative is that faculty which
takes cognisance of moral qualities as manifested in individuals
but not themselves perceptible by the outer senses, such
as the affection of a friend, the hatred of an enemy; its
seat is in the back part of the mid brain-cell. The Virtue
Memorative is the store-house of impressions received through
the Virtue Estimative; its seat is in the hind brain-cell. The
Virtue Ordinative, whose seat is in the centre, in the front
part of the mid brain-cell, takes impressions from both sides,
and combines and separates these as it pleases. It is equivalent
to what we call the imagination, and 'the fanciful inventions
of the poets, such as silver cypresses and ruby mountains,
are its work.'

' The old physiologists divided the brain into three compartments which
they called 'cells' or 'dens.'

The Soul Reasonable is distinguished by two special
faculties: the 'Virtue Speculative' (Quvvet-i "^Alime), and
the 'Virtue Practical' (Cjuvvet-i "^Amile); by the first the
man is able to understand 'Speculative Philosophy,' by the
second he can act according" to the teaching of 'Practical
Philosophy.'

The Soul Reasonable alone can draw universal conclusions
or form abstract conceptions. Thus an animal may be able
to form an idea of love hi connection with its master, but it
cannot conceive love in the abstract apart from an individual.

The definition given of the Soul Reasonable is: A simple,
incorporeal substance, directly ' cognisant of intellectual con-
ceptions, and working in the sensible body through the in-
strumentality of the faculties.

The proof that the Soul Reasonable is a substance, and not
an accident, is that it is capable of receiving accidents, namely,
mental or intellectual impressions; whereas it is an axiom
that one accident cannot be the recipient of another accident. ^
The proof that it is incorporeal is: all substance is either
corporeal or incorporeal; if it is perceptible by the outer
senses, it is the former; if it is not, it is the latter: the soul
is imperceptible by the outer senses, therefore it is incor-
poreal. The proof that it is simple, and not composite, i. e.
that it is indivisible and indecomposable is: it is capable
of knowing certain things, such as unity, which are beyond
question simple : for as knowledge is the merging of the
impression of the thing known in the essence of the knower,
it follows that what can know the simple must itself be

' i. e. without the intervention of any instrument.

2 The favourite example of substance and accident is body and colour.
The existence of Vjody, which is substance, is in no wise dependent on that
of its colour; but the existence of colour, which is accident, is dependent
on that of the body which bears the colour, and is inconceivable without it.

simple. ' The proof that it is directly cognisant of intellectual
conceptions is that it is cognisant of its own existence, for
the intervention of an instrument between a thing and its
own essence is impossible. And so philosophers say the
knowing and the known and the knower are really one.
That the soul is brought into contact with the physical world
through the instrumentality of the senses is obvious and
demands no proof.

. The immortality of the soul is deduced from the fact that
it is a substance, not an accident ; for it is only accident
and form that come and go, substance is eternal.

As Humanity is the crown of the animal kingdom, so is
the 'Perfect Man' (Insan-i Kamil) the crown of Humanity.
It is to this stage of the Perfect Man, who by contemplation
and by virtue can enter into the pure thought of the First
Intelligence, that all things consciously or unconsciously
strive; for when the soul has reached this point it is ready
to pass back into the bosom of that glorious Being whence
it issued on its journey ages ago. This journey is called the
'Circle of Existence' (Deveran-i Vujiid). The spark of Divine
Light or effluent Being descends through the Intelligences,
the Souls, the Spheres and the Elements till it reaches
Earth which is the lowest point on its downward course;
and this is the 'Outward Track' (Tan'q-i Mebde) or the
'Arc of Descent' (Qavs-i Nuzul). The upward journey is
then begun through the Mineral, the Vegetable, the Brute
and Humanity till the stage of the Perfect Man is reached,
when the Soul passes back into the embrace of the First
Intelligence whence it set forth; and this is the 'Homeward
Track' (Tariq-i Ma'ad) or the 'Arc of Ascent' (Qavs-i 'Uruj).

1 As were it otherwise, were the knower (the soul") divisible and decom-
posable, that which has been merged in its essence (the concept of unity)
must also be divisible and decomposable, which is inconceivable.

And when it is achieved the journey is accomplished. '
The scientific views at which we have just glanced were
indeed accepted by the Siifis or Mystics; but these thinkers
attached little importance to the physical world, such slight
interest as it held for them lying almost wholly in the fact
that it is a shadow of the supersensuous. It was the other
side, the transcendental side, of Neo-Platonism that really
possessed them ; and to it they devoted practically their
entire attention. ^ As we saw in the preceding chapter, the

' The Siifi's, who were generally philosophers as well as mystics, often
allude to the Circle of Existence. The Homeward Journey is referred to in
the following beautiful passage which occurs in the seventeenth story of the
third book of the Mesnevi of Jelal-ud-Din.

J -> •■• J \J > ■ > ■ J \j •• • J ■•

^^yx^'^ ^_^:t UU pA-j^J * ^^v^^l ^^:^ ^Ac p^/ ^A^ ^-.^

I died from the mineral and I became the plant 5

I died from the plant and I arose the animal;

I died from the animal and I became the man.

Why then should I fear that in dying I become less?

Yet again shall I die from the man

That I may assume the form of the angels.

And even than the angel must I further win —

('AH things perish except His Pace!')*'

Offered up once again from the angel, I shall become

That which entereth not the imagination, that shall I become!

Let me then become Non-existence; for Non-existence like the organ

Pealeth to me 'Verily unto Him do we return!' f
The same idea is expressed by the poet in one of his finest ghazels, the
text and translation of which are given by Mr. R. A. Nicholson on pp. 46-9
of his admirable 'Selected Poems from the Dlvani Shemsi Tabriz.'

* Koran, xxviii, 88. f Koran, ii, 151.

* Many Orientalists consider Sufiism to be an offshoot from the Vedanta

system which bears their name presents two different aspects
according to the prominence given to either of the two
elements, mystic and philosophic, of which it is composed.
We there gave our attention to the more mystic aspect,
this being the immediate source of inspiration to the Otto-
man poets ; we shall here look for a little at the other side
of Sufiism, that in which the philosophic element predomin-
ates; for although the traces of this are less evident upon
the surface, its influence in poetry has been very great.

The dealings of the Siifis are with matters beyond the
reach of conscious thought, in realms where reason, which
the scientist philosophers profess to follow, cannot act as
guide; and so to understand their philosophy it is necessary
that we should first learn their doctrine of the soul, as this
is the basis on which the whole structure rests.

There is an ancient tradition according to which the uni-
verse consists of eighteen thousand worlds; ' and it may be
that this tradition suggested the name of the 'Five Worlds'
C^Awalim-i Khamsa) of the Siifis. These Five Worlds are
not five different localities, but five different planes ot

philosophy of India. My reasons for preferring to regard it as a development
of Neo-Platonism are : Firstly, the practical identity of the two systems, ex-
cept, of course, where coloured by the prevailing positive religion; Secondly,
the circumstance that Sufiism as a system is first heard of in Syria, the country
of lambllchus, where Neo-Platonist ideas were widely spread; (Rabi'^a, the
earliest of the lover-saints of Islam, died at Jerusalem in 135 (752-3); Abu-1-
Hashim, who died in 150 (767), and was the first to bear the name of Siifi,
was a Syrian Sheylvh ; it was about his time, and at Ramla in Syria, that
the first Siifi convent was founded); Thirdly, the fact that the other side of
Muhammedan philosophy is beyond question derived from the Neo-Platonist
exponents of Aristotle.

' The following probably apocryphal Hadis is sometimes brought forward

in support of this notion : ,..i », *-JLc t_^! J^ '!i>.i\.^ ^.JLxj ^Ju ...'

lA^-lj *^Le '-•J*'* |*.jLa.'i3 'Verily, God hath eighteen thousand worlds; and,
verily, your world is one of them.'

existence which loses in true Reiiii^ as it descends; they arc
consequently often spoken of as the 'Five Planes' (Hazrat-i
Khamsa). The accounts we have of them are naturally some-
what confused, and difter more or less in the difterent
authorities; but essentially they are as follows: Above and
beyond the universe, yet compassing all things, and the Source
of all things, is the 'World of Godhead' (*^Alem-i Lahiit) ;
of this nothing can be predicated, and It is not reckoned
among the Five. The First of these is called the ' Plane of
the Absolutely Invisible' (Hazret-i Ghayb-i Mutlaq) or the . ^^^'
'Plane of the Nebulosity' (Hazret-i ^Ama) ; and its world
is the 'World of the Fixed Prototypes' C^Alem-i A*^yan-i
Sabita), ' that is to say, the existences that people it are •

the Fixed Prototypes.- The Second Plane is that of the - ^"r^
'Relatively Invisible' (Ghayb-i Muzaf), and its world is the
'World of the Intelligences and the Souls;' ^ these are some- a

times called the 'Spirits of Might' (Erwah-i Jeberiitiye), and
so this sphere of being is known also as the ' World of
Might' ('Alem-i Jeberiit).* The next Plane is called the 'World _ A' . 't,
of Similitudes' C^Alem-i Misal), or the 'Angel World' C^Alem-i
Melekut), ^ or sometimes the 'Intermediate World' C^Alem-i
Berzakh), this last because it lies upon the border of the
Fourth Plane. This is the 'Visible World' ('Alem-i Shehadet)

1 It is impossible to translate the term A^yan-i Sabita exactly: Sabita (from
SubUt) means 'potentially existent' as opposed to actually existent, as well as
'fixed' or 'permanent;' a'yan might be rendered by 'realities.' The .\'^ydn-i
Sabita are closely akin to the Ideas of Plato.

2 This sphere of existence is also called the 'World of Meanings' ('^Alem-i
Ma'dni), that is, of the true meanings which underlie names and the outward
show of things.

3 That is, of the Celestial or Spheral Intelligences and Souls.

♦ The terms Jebenit and Jebertltiye convey the idea of 'constraining,' as
though the beings of this World exercised some constraining power over those
below them.

' The term Melekut might also signify ' kingship ' or ■ dominion ' or ' pos-
session."

which is often called the 'World of the Kingdom' C^Alem-i
Mulk) i. e. the Physical World ; it is the world in which we
move, and is the antithesis of the 'Absolutely Invisible.' '
The Fifth Plane is the 'World of Man' ('Alem-i Insan),
which sums up and comprises all the others; for Man, as
we shall see, is the Microcosm epitomising in himself the
whole universe.

Through the Physical World is manifested the World of
Similitudes (or the Angel World) ; through this, the World
of the Intelligences and Souls; through this, the World of
the Fixed Prototypes; through this, the World of the Divine
Names or Attributes ; and through this, the World of the
Unity.

The Five Worlds are often regarded collectively as Three, ^
namely, 'the Invisible, the Intermediate and the Visible;' more
often still as Two, 'the Visible and the Invisible' (^Alem-i
Shehadet ve "^Alem-i Ghayb) or ' the Physical and the Spir-
itual ' ("Alem-i Mulk ve 'Alem-i Melekut). ^

The World of Similitudes is so called because in it exist,
ready to be materialised, the forms which are to be ac-
tualised on the Physical Plane. The number of these which
are so actualised at any given time is in proportion to the
whole 'as a little ring in the midst of a vast desert.'

As the confines of this World of Similitudes touch those
of the Visible World, passage between the two is possible ;
and this brings us to the Siifi theory of the soul.

The human soul is a spirit, and therefore, by virtue of
its own nature, in reality a citizen of the Spirit World. Its

' It is also called the 'Sensible World' ("Alem-i Hissi), the 'World of
Form ' C^Alem-i Siirct), the ' World of Generation and Corruption ' ("^Alem-i
Kevn u Fesad), and so on.

2 They are then sometimes arranged thus, beginning from the lowest:
Mulk, Jeberiit, Melekut, — an order which suggests the Christian phrase, ' the
Kingdom, the Power and the Glory.'

3 Poets and other writers continually allude to ' the Two Worlds.'

true home is there; and thence, for a certain reason, it de-
scends into tlie Physical Plane, where, to enable it to act
upon its surroundings, it is clothed in a physical body. So
long as it is thus swathed in corporeity the soul ever,
consciously or unconsciously, seeks to regain its proper world;
it is drawn as by a spiritual gravitation towards its real
home. But the body keeps it back; the phantasmagoria pre-
sented by the bodily senses seems the one reality, and this
forms a veil which in the great majority of cases shuts
out from it the view of its original dwelling-place. So en-
grossed is it by what is presented by the bodily faculties
that it forgets the very existence of its own world ; and
failing to understand them, wrongly attributes certain in-
clinations that it has, in reality a heritage therefrom, to some
material cause. It is only at rare intervals, when the body
is asleep and all the avenues of the senses are closed, that
such a soul can for a brief space, in a vision or a dream,
look into its own world; but so dulled is it by oblivion and
by the soil of earthly passions that it can receive only a
faint impression of what is presented to it there, and thus
when the sleeper awakens all is forgotten, or there remains
but a \ague indeterminable shadow. '

* The great majority of dreams have nothing to do with the Spirit World;
they are but the result of forms which the senses have transmitted to the
memory during the state of wakefulness. Such dreams, which are called by
the Koranic term azghas-i ahlam i. e. ' tangled dreams,' are without signifi-
cance. Those visions which are really received in the Spirit World are of
two classes: the first and rarest are those which are so clear that they stand
in no need of interpretation ; the second and more usual arc those perceptions
which the percipient (the Soul Reasonable) transmits to the Imagination to be
clothed in some analogous form; it is dreams of this class that call for an
interpreter. True dreams may be distinguished from '■ tangled dreams ' by the
quickness with which the sleeper awakens and by the profound, clear and
lasting impression which the dream produces. A dream, the details of which
have to be laboriously brought together by the memory, belongs to the
category of the ' tangled.'

The power of passing from the Physical World into the
Spiritual is potential in every soul, but it is actualised only
in a few. In a very few of these, namely in the cases of
the prophets and great saints, it is, by the special grace of
God, so developed that even while the body is awake, the
veil woven by the senses is from time to time withdrawn
and the soul is for a moment brought face to face with
the Spirit World, and there, where is neither space nor time,
it beholds the Reality of all things, and hears the voices of
the Heavenly Host (Mele-i A^la). It is thus those gifted ones
receive their revelations; and it is to impressions so obtained
that we owe such information as we have concerning the
Five Worlds and other spiritual phenomena, i But we are
explicitly told that such impressions cannot be adequately
rendered in earthly language ; they belong to a plane of
existence the conditions of which lie outside human con-
ception, and therefore to be conveyed at all, they have to
be translated into some sort of allegory or metaphor which
by analogy may suggest the inexpressible idea that lies
beneath, but which must not be taken in its literal sense.
This point is important as it underlies the whole Sufi termi-
nology.

We now see the ground on which the Sufis base their
transcendental doctrines; it is the experience of their own

1 This is the Oriental theory of Revelation ; and as all the Prophets have
been Orientals, we may take it that the Oriental is best qualified to speak
upon the subject.

Divination is upon the same lines ; the soul of the diviner passes moment-
arily from the Physical to the Spiritual World ; but in his case this passage
has to be induced by external means. The soul of the prophet or saint is so
pure and so little under the influence of the senses that it effects the passage
without external aid, while the diviner is compelled to have recourse to his
incantations, or whatever else he may use as medium, in order to abstract
his soul from the sensible world. But these media, which are really foreign
to the perceptive faculty, mingle with his perceptions, and consequently the
impressions he receives are sometimes true and sometimes false.

souls ill the Spirit World. But such experience, which is
technically termed 'unveilment' (keshfj in allusion to the
withdrawal of the veil interposed by sensual perception, is
not the aim of the true Sufi; it comes, so to speak, fortui-
tously. His real i;oal is absorption in the Deity. The highest
happiness of any being consists in the most perfect realisation
of itself; the human soul realises itself most perfectly in
union with the Divine Soul, so therein lies its supreme fe-
licity. This union is achieved through the state called 'Ecstasy'
(Hal), and when in Ecstasy the soul is transported to the
Spirit World and there beholds the mysteries.

That in their endeavours to express these ineffable mysteries
in earthly speech different seers should make use of different,
even divergent, language, is inevitable. Thus some seek to
explain the descent of the soul to the physical world by
the Divine desire of self-manifestation, and teach that it is
really God who looks out upon His own works through the
eye of man ; ' others again, while admitting the ultimate
identity of the soul with God, say that the soul has been
sent down in order that it may perfect itself by experience
of life on the physical plane, where the imperfections arising
from the nature of matter offer opportunities for the develop-
ment of noble qualities, opportunities necessarily lacking in a
more perfect sphere ; these teachers hold that according to
the use the soul makes of such opportunities will be its
position when it returns home. All agree in maintaining
the pre-natal existence of the soul, and in declaring the
physical world to be but the transient and distorted reflection
of a far more glorious world, and in itself essentially unreal.
They say that the love for whatever it may consider beautiful
which is in every soul arises from the fact that in the Other
World the soul gazed upon the Archetypal Beauty, and

' See pp. 19-22. This is the view generally expressed by the poets.

that the beautiful earthly object awakens a reminiscence of
this. But it is only the enlightened who are conscious of
this fact, and therefore their delight in beauty is far above
that of the ignorant crowd who attribute the pleasure they
feel to some lower, most often material, source.

As we have seen from their idea of the Five Worlds
which become less subtle and more complex as they recede
from the One, the Siifi conception of the universe is essen-
tially the Alexandrian doctrine of Emanations. It is therefore
natural that they too should often speak of the first and
second hypostases as the Universal Intelligence and the
Universal Soul, although this may be somewhat outside their
special terminology.

The first point on which they insist is the absolute in-
effableness of God whom, as already mentioned, they gener-
ally speak of as 'The Truth.' ' He is beyond unity, beyond
perfection, beyond even being; of Him nothing can be
affirmed. In the words of an eminent Turkish Siifi, Sheykh
"^Abdullah of Bosnia:- 'The Truth, regarded from the side
of the unconditionedness of His Essence and of the unform-
edness of His Ipseity and of His unparticularisedness, is,
in His Essential Oneness and His Very Unity, above de-
scription and attribution and nomination and definition and
predication. He may not be predicated of with any predication;
He may not be described by any description ; He may not

' A Muhammedan friend once suggested to me that 'The Fact' would be
a better translation of this term, Haqq, than 'The Truth,' as conveying more
forcibly the idea that God is the one and only Reality in existence. But
while admitting the force of my friend's contention, I have preferred to
retain 'The Truth,' as being, to my mind at least, less concrete.

2 Sheykh '^Abdullah-i Bosnevi wrote an esteemed Turkish commentary on the
celebrated Muhi-ud-Din bin-''Arebi"s famous work entitled FusiIs-ul-Hikem
'The Gems of Philosophy.' Ibn-'Arebi died in 638 (1240); Sheykh "^ Abdullah
in 1054 (1644-5). The passages translated are from the Introduction which
the Sheykh has prefixed to his Commentary.

be named by any name ; He may not be particularised by
any definition. Nothing can be predicated of Him concerning
either Unity or the necessity of His existence, or concerning
any relationship of knowledge, whether of Himself or of
others. He is above the multiplicity^ of the Attributes
and the Names. While merged in Him, the Divine Names are
He is He; not, They are He. So His Unity is one with
Very Unity; it is not dependent on the opposition of mul-
tiplicity; its realisation in the soul and its impression in the
mind of the thinker do not depend on the impression of
its opposite. ' Nay, it is existent through its own self. And
when we speak of 'Unity' it is in order to indicate its
aloofness and its glory; not to express the usual meaning
of the word ' unity.' So The Truth, regarded from the side of
His Very Unity, and considered apart from His manifestation
through phenomena, is not to be understood or comprehended
or conceived, and is not knowable or describable.'

The first particularisation (ta'^ayyun) is in what is con-
ventionally known as the Plane of Nebulosity; here the so-
called 'Divine Names' (Esma-i Ilahiye) become distinguish-
able. These Names, examples of which are 'Merciful,' 'Eternal,'
'Omniscient,' 'Almighty,' are symbols which point to God
through one or other of His Attributes. ^ Hitherto these are
merged in the Oneness, the 'Very Unity;' now they differ-
entiate; and through their differentiation God becomes
conscious of Himself. Here likewise come into individual
potential being the Prototypes already mentioned, though
their actualisation is in a lower plane.

' It is above the axiom that things are known through their opposites.

' The terms 'Names' (Esmd) and 'Attributes' (Sifdt) are used synonymously
in this connection. The former was suggested by the two following passages
from the Koran : vii, 179. 'To God belong the most fair names; call ye then
on Him thereby.' and xx, 7. 'God, there is no God but ITr! ITj^ are the
most fair names.'

So the descent is continued with ever increasing differ-
entiation and complexity through the several planes till we
reach the physical. But this sequence is not a sequence in
time; for time does not come into existence till we touch
the phenomenal plane : it is a sequence in causation. Sequence
in causation is illustrated by an essentially luminous body
and the light it throws out ; such light being subsequent to
the luminous body in causation, as until the latter exists,
the light cannot; but not being subsequent to it in time,
as it is impossible for an essentially luminous body to have
existed a single moment without giving off light. '

The universe is summed up in Man who is its central
point. Standing on the border-line between the spiritual and
the physical, on the one side he joins hands with the angels,
while on the other he is related to the brutes and the
material world. Every other being in the universe reflects
one or other of the Divine Attributes; Man reflects the
whole. As Sheykh ""Abdullah says: 'The universe is the
aggregate of the individual objects through which are mani-
fested the Divine Names; but as it was incapable of re-
ceiving the form of the Divine Totality, and as the manifesting
of the manifestation of universality was not obtainable there-
through, God created Man, who is its soul, after the Divine
image ; so Man is the theatre of the Divine Names and the
meeting-point of the Divine Attributes.' Man therefore gathers
up in himself the individual reflections of the Divine Attri-
butes elsewhere scattered singly through the universe, and
at the same time he reflects the union of these, and in this
way he is the image of God. So man is justly called the
'Microscosm' (^Alem-i Sughra) or 'Lesser World,' as being the
sum and epitome of the 'Macrocosm' C^Alem-i Kubra) or

' See Mr. Browne's 'Year amongst the Persians,' p. 137.

'Greater World" outside. ' Moreover, as in the heart of Man
are reflected all the Attributes of God, it is held that the
way to the knowledge of God is through the knowledge of
Man's own heart. This doctrine is insisted upon with the
greatest earnestness, and not one of the many aphorisms
of the Siifis is more constantly quoted than these famous
words: 'Whoso knoweth himself knowcth his Lord.' '^

Absorption in the Deity, the merging of the individual
soul of the saint in the Universal Soul of God, is the ultimate
aim of Sufiism. This blissful state, which in the present life is
possible only from time to time, and which is not to be evoked
at will, is attainable by the saints alone, and the whole Sufi
life consists in training the soul to be capable of such attain-
ment. This training is generally begun by the aspirant
becoming the disciple of some Sufi sage in whose teaching
he must place the most absolute confidence. Asceticism and
retirement from society are generally recommended ; the
former, because it tends to dull the animal appetites (for
in proportion as these are dulled the windows of the soul
are opened); the latter, because by shutting out the great
sources of distraction, it renders self-concentration easier for
the soul. But the all-important factor in this work is Love,
a Love which, as we have already seen, rises from the seen
and temporal to the Unseen and Eternal. It is by this
all-constraining Love that the soul is wrapt in the utter
self-oblivion of ecstasy and borne aloft into the great heart
of Being. This is the feature of Sufiism which the poets
seized upon, and which they elaborated into the religious

' Some writers call man the macrocosm, and the outer world the microcosm,
man being in reality the greater of the two.

2 aj. >— JjC s^jmJu ^^ ^^. This speech, which is attributed to ^Alf,

the Prophet's son-in-law, will remind the reader of the equally famous aphorism
of Thales: Know thyself!

philosophy of Love which has been sketched on a pre-
vious page. *

There is a matter calHng for some attention in connection
with this love-philosophy, in which the Orientals, by closely
following their Grecian teachers, took up a position which is
directly opposed to modern ideas. They held that the most
fitting object of the human love which is to lead to the
Divine is a youth, not a woman. Love for a youth, they
maintained, is the only form of love worthy of the noble
soul; for it alone can bring the Lover to that divestment
of selfism which is the aim, as it is the only form of love
which can be absolutely free from selfish desire. This, which
is ' Platonic Love ' in the true sense of that phrase, seems
to entail a corresponding depreciation of woman ; at least,
we find that in proportion as it is current in a community,
a tone of misogyny prevails in literature. ^ The idea of 'mas-
culine love,' as the Greeks called it, was by them handed
on with the other details of their philosophy to the Mu-
hammedans. It consequently forms part and parcel of the
literary outfit borrowed from the Persians by the Turks,
and the traces of it are visible all through Turkish literature
till we come to the Modern School. That with the Turks,
at any rate, this fashion was for the most part merely a
literary convention is shown by its absence from the national

' See pp. 20-2. This insistence upon Love as the chief agent in bringing
the soul into the knowledge of God, and the prominence given to ecstasy
as the state in which the soul is for the time being united with God, are
among the clearest indications that the roots of Sufiism should be sought in
Neo-Platonism rather than in the Vedanta philosophy. Love and ecstasy, as
is well known, form essential elements of the Greek system, while they are
entirely absent from the Indian, the rigorous logic of which allows no room
for raptures or for passionate love of the Deity.

2 The reader who desires to see how this form of love affected Greek
literature is referred to an interesting volume entitled ' Antimachus of Colo-
phon and the Position of Women in Greek Poetry,' by E. F. M. Benecke
(Swan Sonnenscheia & Co), where the subject is ably and fully discussed.

ballatls, in which is heard the true voice of the people, by
the struggle between it and love for woman even in the literary
poetry, and by its final and decisive defeat.

Its prevalence, however, has created a considerable diffi-
culty for the translator of the older poetry. The Turkish
language, like the Persian, knows no distinctions of gender;
and as the poets describe and address a beautiful maiden
and a beautiful youth in identical terms, it is generally im-
possible, withtiut some external clue, which is rarely forth-
coming, to determine with certainty which of these vv^as
present in the writer's mind. Whether then shall we trans-
late by 'he or 'she'? From the unvarying sameness of their
descriptions and the conventionality and constancy of the
type, it is evident that the poets were for the most part
concerned less with doing honour to any individual fair one
than in offering their homage to abstract or ideal Beauty. We
intuitively conceive of ideal Beauty under a feminine form;
any other conception would be for us forced and unnatural.
Consequently, by rendering their verses as though the earthly
vision that inspired them were feminine, we shall perhaps
come closer to and more faithfully represent the spirit of
these poets, even if at times we be farther from the letter.

The Sufi teachers have reduced their system to a science
which bristles with a complicated and generally obscure
terminology. Into this it is unnecessary we should enter, as
it has little direct bearing upon poetry. The poet who is
imbued, as most poets are, with the Siifiistic mysticism,
pays but scant heed to these technicalities. Unless he be him-
self a teacher of the Way, he leaves such details to the
Schools, and lets his heart be wholly filled by the sublime
conceptions of all-embracing Unity and all-conquering Love
which form the real basis whereon all the rest is built.

Underlying all action, all existence, in the universe, such

a poet sees the Divine energy, of which all action and all
existence is merely a manifestation. Reason, he knows, cannot
transcend phenomena; and so, driven to pierce through to
what lies beyond, he is fain to cast reason aside and lay
bare the heart to receive that inward light by which alone
man can behold The Truth. For the eye of reason before
the Divine Light is like the human eye before the sun, it
is blinded by excess of brightness, it loses itself in that
'dazzling darkness.' ^ When reason is thus burned up by the
proximity of the Divine Light, the radiance of Illumination
streams into the soul, and the poet sees how the whole pheno-
menal universe is an illusion, in itself non-existent. He sees
how The Truth is the one source of all existence, diffused
throughout the universe through emanation after emanation ;
how the Primal Intelligence, itself rayed out from the One,
rays out in turn the Primal Soul; how the Divine Names
cast their light upon the darkness of not-being, each separate
atom of which mirror-like reflects one. He sees how the
Awful Attributes of The Truth are reflected in the existence
of hell and the devils, and how the Beautiful Attributes are
reflected in that of Paradise and the angels. ^ He further
sees how Man reflects all the Attributes, Awful and Beautiful
alike, and is thus the Microcosm, summing up the universe
in himself. He thus sees how it is The Truth alone that is
acting through all things, and moreover how this action is
a never-ceasing, never-pausing process, every non-existent

' Nui-i Siyali, literally 'Black Light,' i.e. 'Dazzling Darkness,' is one of
those Sufi phrases often used by the poets, — though sometimes in senses
far enough from the original.

2 The Divine Names or Attributes are often divided into those of 'Awfulness '
(Jelal) and those of 'ISeauty' (Jcmal). The former are those pointing to the
more terrible aspects of the Divine Nature, such as 'the Avenger,' 'the
Destroyer,' etc.; the latter to the gentler, as ' the Merciful,' ' the Forgiver,' etc.
Some say the Awful Attributes are the negative, such as 'the Unsleeping,' 'the
Undying;' and the Beautiful the positive, such as 'the Holy,' 'the Just.'

atom being each instant clothed with a fresh phenomenal
eftlux radiated from the Source of existence and being again
stripped of it, so that the whole contingent universe is mo-
mentarily being annihilated and re-created, though the suc-
cessive acts of destruction and renewal follow one another
in such swift succession that they are wholly imperceptible,
and all appears as one uninterrupted line, ^ even as an un-
broken circle of fire is seen if a single spark be whirled
quickly round. - But the poet may not rest content with the
mere perception of these high mysteries; indeed tliat very
Love which has* revealed them to him impels him to seek
reunion with The Truth. How could he who sees how every
effluent spark of Being is straining to return to its Source
do other than strive with his whole heart and soul to attain
that blessed consummation ?

Such is the philosophic Sufiism of the poets.

From those diverse elements, theological, philosophic and
mystic, was formed the religious and intellectual life of old
Turkey. With the poets mysticism usually predominated;
but they made as free use of the opinions and phraseology
of the religious and the philosophers as they did of those

' This idea of the continual destruction and re-creation of the universe,
which is often referred to by the poets, appeai-s to be borrowed from one of
the doctrines of the Mutekellimin or Scholastics. These doctors seem to have
taken up the atomistic theory of Democritus, which they manipulated to suit
their own purposes. They contended that God created the atoms 5 that the
universe results from the 'accidents' these receive; that the accidents are the
immediate creation of God: that no accident can last longer than one atom
of time; and consequently that the universe is maintained in existence by a
continuous series of distinct creative acts. Their name for the atom is Jevher-i
Ferd, 'isolated substance,' or 'monad."

2 The Shu^le-i Jevwale or ' Whirling Spark ' is often alluded to. A spark
attached to a string and whirled quickly round appears to trace a complete
circle of fire. While the spark is in reality every moment in a different spot,
its motion is so rapid that the line of fire it presents appears continuous.

of the Sufis. Their verses therefore present ideas belonging
to each of the three groups, and these are introduced side
by side without any attempt at reconcihation. It follows
that we must not take every statement and every allusion
that we find in a poem as indicative of the real belief or
opinion of the poet. A man who accepts the Ptolemaic
system cannot possibly believe that the earth is supported
by a bull that stands upon a fish ; yet we sometimes find
the same poet in the same poem referring to both conceptions.
But such phenomena are common to all literatures. A poet
takes ideas which are current among his people, whether
such ideas be religious or scientific, mythological or fabulous,
and introduces them in his verses, sometimes with the object
of strengthening his statements by the citation of an authority
popularly held Divine, sometimes with that of illustrating
and illumining his teaching by referring to some fable or
some theory familiar to all, and sometimes with no other
than the purely decorative purpose of adding vivacity or
brilliance to his lines by allusions fraught with a wealth of
associations.

There were, however, it should be said, certain writers
who made some attempt to harmonise the opposing systems.
Those men proceeded on the lines that the "^Arsh and Kursi
of the theologians represent the Ninth and Eighth Spheres
of the philosophers ; that the Light of Muhammed is merely
another name for the First Intelligence ; and so forth. In
so far as these terms came to be used synonymously such
would-be peace-makers were practically right; but in their
origin those and similar conceptions were unconnected, and
the associations attached to them remained distinct throughout.

It is perhaps unnecessary to add that the preceding sketch
in no wise represents the culture of modern Turkey. There
may still be some ignorant peasants who believe in Mount

Qaf and the Seven Seas; Siifiism or some kindred form of
mysticism must always remain, for such is tlie necessary
attitude of certain temperaments, to be found everywhere,
though more common in the East; but the medieval pliilo-
sophy which undertakes to explain all things in heaven and
earth has passed away. The astronomy and physiology taught
in Turkish schools to-day are the same as those we teach
in England : the cosmography of Ptolemy and the psychology
of Aristotle are now relegated to the study of the antiquary
or historian.

^■^

CHAPTER III.

Verse-forms, Prosody and Rhetoric.

In this chapter we shall consider the mechanism of the
poetic system which the Turks borrowed from the Persians,
looking first at the verse-forms, then glancing briefly at the
prosody and at some of the more usual of the rhetorical
figures.

Here the Turks were borrowing what was itself a loan,
as almost every detail connected with the structure of Per-
sian verse had been adopted by the Persians from the Arabs.
To this Persianised-Arab system the Ottomans added, about
the close of the seventeenth century when the national spirit
began to stir in literature, a new and very simple verse-
form modelled on their own popular ballads ; and the system,
thus reinforced, remained in exclusive use down to the year.
1879, when the great reformer Hamid Bey introduced into
Turkish poetry certain Western verse-forms, with a result
that has proved revolutionary.

Although no distinctive trace of it is left in full-fledged Otto-
man poetry, it will be interesting and useful if we try in
the first place to get some slight idea of what old Turkish
poetry was like before Persian influence had swamped or
wiped out every genuine native element. To help us here
we have three books, all written in Central Asia, and all
considerably earlier than the commencement of the fourteenth

century when Ottoman, or rather West-Turkish, poetry begins.

The oldest of these is the Qudatqu Bilik or 'The Aus-
picious Knowledge.' This, which claims to be the first book
ever written in the Turkish tongue, was finished in Kashghar
in A. H. 462 (A. D. 1069-70). It is in the Uyghur dialect ^o6f-y^^
of Turkish, and is the work of a certain Yusuf who was
Khass Hajib or Privy Councillor to Boqra Khan, the King
of those regions. In purpose this old book is ethical; it
discusses, chiefly in the form of conversations between a
fictitious King, his Vezir, and the Vczir's son and brother,
the moral and social questions which weighed most with
the Turks of those far-off times. As to external form, it is
written in what the Persians and Ottomans would call Alesnevi
verse, that is, in rhyming couplets. The lines are uniformly
eleven-syllabled, and the metre, according to Veled Chelebi
— a modern Ottoman scholar of whom more anon, — is
approximate to that of the Shah-Name of the Persian poet
Firdausi. This last point is, however, difficult to determine,
as the true Turkish metres — in one of which the Qudatqu
Bilik is written — are syllabic, not quantitative like the Per-
sian, and are sometimes susceptible of being read in more
ways than one. '

The second of the old books referred to is the Diwan-i
Hikmet or 'Philosophic Poems' of Khoja Ahmed-i Yesevi.
This is some fifty years * later than the Qudatqu Bilik, and

' The Qudatqu Bilik has been published along with a German translation
and an interesting and valuable Introduction by Professor Vambery : Uigu-
rische Pprachmonumente und das Kudatku Bilik, von Hermann Vambery,
Innsbruck, 1870.

2 Veied Chelebi says it was written in A. II. 500 (A. D. 1 106-7), but
perhaps the true date is somewhat later. Khoja .\hmed-i Yesevi, i. e. Khoja
Ahmed of Yesi (in Turkistdn), was the most famous of the early Turkish
Sheykhs. According to a Persian work entitled Khazinet-ul-Asfiyd or 'The
Treasury of the Pure,' by one Ghulam Muhammed, Khoja Ahmed died in
his native town of Yesi in A. II. 562 (A. D. 1 166-7).

is in the Uzbek or Jaghatay dialect. Judging from a state-
ment at the beginning of the first poem, the Diwan in our
hands is the second volume of the author's works; the first
seems to have disappeared. The book which we have con-
sists of a collection of short poems wholly on mystic subjects.
These poems vary somewhat in form, the norm being a
succession of four-lined stanzas, the first three lines of each
of which rhyme together, but take a new rhyme with each
stanza, while the fourth lines are either identical throughout
or, if varied, keep up the same rhyme. This rhyme-arrange-
ment — a monorhyme with a thrice-repeated internal sub-
rhyme — seems to have been very popular with the Turks.
It is not confined to stanzaic verse; sometimes it appears
in the couplet, the sub-rhyme being in this case repeated
in the middle and at the end of the first line and in the
middle of the second, while the monorhyme occurs once, at
the end of every second line. It so happens that this ar-
rangement of rhyme in connection with both stanza and
couplet is known in Persian too; when it is in connection
with the stanza, the form of verse is called Murebba^ when
with the couplet, it is said to be Musemmat. ' Yesevi's metres
are all genuine Turkish; but although the principle on which
they are founded — a principle in true harmony with the
genius of the language — is quite other than that of the
Persian, an effect very similar to that of the Persian metres
is often produced through the number of syllables being in
many cases the same, while the fall of the accent replaces
in a measure the quantity of the feet.

The third of our triad of ancient books is a poem on the
scriptural romance of Joseph and Zelikha written, probably
in Bokhara, by one ^Ali, and finished on the 30th. of Rejeb
630 (i2th. May, 1233). This poem is composed in four-lined

' Some call it Musejja"^.

stanzas of the form just described, that is, the first three
lines in each rh) ine with one another, while the fourth Hnes
rh) ine, or rather, are supposed to rhyme, together throughout.
What actually happens in these fourth lines is that each
ends in the same word, in what, as we shall learn, the Per-
sians and Ottomans call a Redi'f, before which the true rhyme-
word ought to come; in '^Ali's poem these penultimate words
do as a rule (but not always) rhyme more or less perfectly.
The metre, while certainly not quantitative, is not strictly
syllabic, as the number of syllables to the line fluctuates
between eleven and twelve; it is probable that accent played
a considerable part here. '

From what has been said it will be seen that except in
the matter of its prosody, which is based on an entirely
difterent principle, native Turkish poetry, as represented by
the three old books at which we have glanced, had much in
common with Persian. Its chief verse-forms were in use among
those of the more cultured system ; and the lilt of its verse,
though reached by another road, was not very different.
That this should be so is natural enough considering that
not only had the Turks and Persians been in contact for
ages, but that for some time they had been brought yet
closer by belief in a common faith. The way was therefore
paved for the adoption of the Persian system by the Turks;
and it was almost without an effort that the native system
glided into the foreign. So far as West-Turkish poetry is
concerned, the only struggle was between the two principles
of prosody, the syllabic and the quantitative; for the first
hundred years they were used together indiscriminately,
till about the beginning of the fifteenth century the former

' A description of '^Alfs poem, with a number of extracts, is given by
Th. Houtsma in the 34th. Vol. (that for 1889) of the Journal of the German
Oriental Society.

disappeared, leaving the Persian in undisputed possession.

One consequence of the acceptance by the Ottomans of
the Perso-Arab poetic system is that almost all the technical
terms used in Turkish in connection with the art or science,
the names of the verse-forms, metres, feet, rhetorical figures
and so on, are Arabic. In that language these are all sig-
nificant words, describing, most often figuratively, that struc-
ture or peculiarity to which they are applied ; but the Turks,
in whose language few of them have any self-evident meaning,
employ them as purely technical terms, generally without
regard to their original signification.

Like all else connected with Persian and Ottoman poetry,
the outward form is regulated by hard and fast rules which
admit of no relaxation. Thus there are eighteen distinct
verse-forms, each more or less appropriated to a certain
class of subject; these the poet is bound to employ, making
his choice according to his matter; he is in no wise at liberty
to invent new combinations, and, indeed, no writer of the
Old School ever attempted such a thing. Similarly, there is
a limited number of metres; but as almost all of these are
susceptible of several modifications, the total number of
available varieties is pretty considerable. Each of these metres
is divided into a definite number of feet, which, in their
turn, are subdivided into a determined number of long and
short or, as the Orientals call them, heavy and light syllables,
following one another in a particular order which may not
be altered. Some of these metres are generally used with
one verse-form, some with another.

Let us look first at the Verse-forms which, as we have
seen, are eighteen in number.

It is chiefly in the arrangement of the rhyme that these

verse-forms difter from one another, and so a few preliminary
words on the nature of Ottoman rhyme will be appropriate
here. As given by the Oriental rhetoricians, the rules in con-
nection with this are vcr)- technical and extremely elaborate,
but with only one exception they work out into practical
identity with those that regulate rhyme in our own poetr)'. '
When It extends beyond a single couplet Ottoman poetry
is always rhymed, blank verse being unknown.

In addition to the rhyme we have very frequently what
is called a Redif (which in Arabic means 'Pillion-rider');
that is, one or more words, always the same, added to the
end of every line that has the same rhyme, throughout an
entire poem ; which word or words, though counting in the
scansion, are not regarded as the rhyme, the true rhyme
in every case being found immediately before. The lines:

'There shone such a truth about thee,
'I did not dare to doubt thee,'

afford an English example; the word 'thee' being here a
Redif, while 'about' and 'doubt' form the true rhyme. But
while in English we very seldom find a Redif consisting of
more than one word, a Persian or Ottoman Redif may con-
sist of every word in the line except the first, there being

• The exception referred to occurs in what is technically called Mu'esses
Rhyme. Here the rhyme-letter (technically named the Revi) is preceded by
a short vowel (technically named the Tevji'h), which again is preceded by a
consonant (technically named the Dakhil), which in its turn is preceded by
a long vowel (technically named the Te'sis). Now while in such rhyme the
Revi, the Tevji'h and the Te'sis must be the same, the Dakhil need not be
the same: thus the words Jazib, Katib, Talib are all good rhymes in Persian
and Turkish. Such rhymes would be paralleled in English by 'baker,' 'hater,'
paler,' words which we should regard as merely assonant, not as really
rhyming. When the Dakhil also is made the same, as in the words Jdzib and
Kazib, Katib and Ratib, Tdlib and Ghdlib, the resultant rhyme is reckoned
by the Easterns as a rhetorical embellishment, and classed as a variety of the
figure called Iltizam or 'Supererogation.' With this exception the principle
of Perso-Turkish rhyme is virtually the same as that of English.

of course always one word to form the rhyme. The Redif
does not form part of the original Arab system; it was
grafted on to this by the Persians when adapting it to their
own poetry. It is, however, probable that the Redi'f was a
feature of ancient Turkish poetry also, as it is of frequent
occurrence in so early and so thoroughly Turkish a work as
the Diwan-i Hikmet of Ahmed-i Yesevi, and runs right through
^Ali's Joseph and Zelikha. It used to be constantly employed
by the Ottoman poets, but it has somewhat lost ground of
late years, as it tends to hamper freedom of expression,
and moreover is not a characteristic of French poetry.

The Perso-Arab poetic system has two distinct rhyme-
schemes, the one an invention of the Persians, the other
the original Arabian plan. We shall begin with the first, as
it is already familiar to us in our own literature, and as only
one verse-form derives from it.

The distinctive feature of the Persian scheme is that through-
out an entire poem the two hemistichs of each couplet
rhyme with one another and without reference to the rhyme
of any other couplet whatever, care only being taken that
the same rhyme-sound does not immediately follow or precede,
in other words, that two couplets having the same rhyme
are not placed in juxtaposition. This system is simple in the
extreme, and corresponds exactly to that observed in Pope's
heroic couplets and countless other English poems.

I. Mesnevi, or ' Double-Rhyme,' is the name given to a
poem written in these rhyming couplets. Each of these coup-
lets must be complete in itself; there must be nothing of
what the French call 'enjambement,' that is, there must be
no overflow of words into the couplet following. On account
of the unlimited freedom in choice of rhyme which it affords,

this vcrse-forni is generally adopted for lony; poems, the
Arabian or monorhyme system being preferred for shorter
pieces. All the metrical romances, for instance, many of which
extend to several thousand couplets, are Mesnevis. The rhyming
chronicles and lengthy mystic, didactic and ethical poems
are likewise composed in this form. It is the rule that a
long Mesnevi, forming a complete book in itself, should open
with a canto to the praise of God ; this should be followed
l)\- one in honour of the Prophet, whose Mi'^raj or 'Ascen-
sion" is very often celebrated in another. The next canto
is generally a panegyric on the great man (usually the reigning
Sultan) to whom the work is dedicated. This again is most
often followed by a division bearing some such heading as
'The Reason of the Writing of the Book,' in which the poet
narrates the circumstances that induced him to begin his
work, generally the solicitations of some friend. After all
this, which forms as it were the prologue, comes the story
itself, or whatever else may be the subject of the work,
divided as a rule into a number of books or sections, which
are subdivided into a series of cantos. Each of these cantos
is headed by a rubric, very often in the Persian language,
setting forth the matter treated. The work is properly brought
to a close by an epilogue, in which the date of composition
is frequently mentioned. It was not unusual in early times
for a poet to write a series of five such Mesnevis ; in this
case the series was called a Khamsa or ' Quintet.' When
the subject of the Mesnevi is a romance the poet often
introduces during the course of the story a number of the
little odes known as ghazels, placing these in the mouths
of his characters in critical moments or when their feelings
are highly strung. Long Mesnevis, running into thousands
of couplets, are characteristic of the First and Second Periods,
the subjects being generally mystic or religious in the former

of these, mystic-romantic in the latter. By the beginning
of the Third Period these lengthy poems began to pass out
of fashion, and comparatively few Mesnevis of any great
length were written after its close. The form did not lose
in popularity, but was employed for shorter poems, some-
times religious, sometimes didactic, but most frequently nar-
rative or descriptive. Indeed, the Mesnevi has at all times
been the favourite verse-form for narrative poetry of every
kind. Finally, its simplicity recommends it to the modern
writers, with whom it is in much favour for short occasional
poems.

As we have seen, the Qudatqu Bilik, the oldest Turkish
book known, is written throughout in rhyming couplets; hence
it is probable that Mesnevi verse formed part of the original
Turkish material and is therefore, so far as Ottoman poetry
is concerned, rather a survival from the native system than
a loan from outside.

Turning now to the Arabian system; we find that the
distinctive characteristic here is the monorhyme; that is,
that a single rhyme runs throughout the entire poem, no
matter how long this be. In poems written on this principle
the first lines of the several couplets generally remain un-
rhymed, while all the second lines rhyme together; in some
cases, however, the first line of the opening couplet — i. e.
the first line of the poem — rhymes with its own second
line and consequently with that of each succeeding couplet.
There are seventeen verse-forms constructed upon this plan,
whicli was much more popular than the Persian, almost all
the shorter pieces, and these form by far the larger portion
of Ottoman poetry, having been written in accordance with
it up to the rise of the Modern School. Let us now look
at these seventeen verse-forms.

The unit upon which the Arabian scheme is built is the
Misra*^ (or Misra"), which we may translate as ' Hemistich.'
This is a single line t)f verse written in one of the established
metres, which, if placet! beside another line in the same
metre, would form a distich or couplet.

II. When a Misra' does not form one of the members of
a couplet, but is a unit complete in itself, having no con-
nection with any other versified writing, it is called a Misra'^-i
Azade or 'Independent Hemistich.'

III. The Beyt, usually translated as 'Couplet' or 'Distich,'
consists of two misra^s in the same metre, which misra'^s may
or may not rhyme together.

The Beyt, whether rhymed or unrhymed, may be either
one out of several couplets which together form a poem, or
it may, like the Independent Hemistich, be a separate unit.

When the two hemistichs rhyme, the Beyt is said to
be Musarra"^ or ' Rhymed.' This term is further applied —
as descriptive of the rhyme-scheme — to any poem consisting
of a succession of such couplets; so that in a piece of verse
rhymed in Musarra"^ fashion all the hemistichs will rhyme
together.

When a Rhymed Beyt forms the opening couplet of a
poem in monorhyme (especially of a ghazel or qasi'da) it is
called a Matla^ a word which literally means the ' Orient '
or ' Rising-point ' of a heavenly body. Such is the cor-
rect use of the term Matla"; but the word is often loosely
applied to an Independent Beyt when the two lines rhyme
together.

An Independent Beyt the two lines of which do not rhyme
together is called a Ferd, or, more usually, a Mufrcd, both
of which words mean ' Unit.' But these terms likewise are

often loosely employed, being frequently used to designate any
Independent Beyt whether unrhymed or rhymed.

IV. The Ghazel : This, which is the most typically Oriental
of all the verse-forms alike in the careful elaboration of its
detail and in its characteristic want of homogeneity, is, or
at least was till within recent years, the first favorite of the
Ottoman poets. It is a short poem of not fewer than four
and not more than fifteen couplets. Such at any rate is the
theoretical limit, but Ghazels containing a much larger number
of couplets may occasionally be met with; this, however,
is exceptional, from five to ten being the average number.
The first couplet of a Ghazel is, as we have seen, called the
Matla"^, and is invariably musarra*^, the two hemistichs always
rhyming . together. All the succeeding couplets are non-
musarra'^; that is, all their second lines rhyme together and
with the Matla^ while their first lines do not rhyme at all.
If we employ the alphabetical notation usually adopted when
dealing with rhyme-sequences, we get the following for a
Ghazel of six couplets: A. A : B.A: C.A: D. A : E.A: F.A.
The last couplet of a Ghazel has the special name of Maqta^
or 'Point of Section;' and in this the poet introduces his
name, thus as it were affixing his signature to the little
work. This custom of introducing the name towards the end
of a poem is not peculiar to the Ghazel, but is common
to all the verse-forms of more than two couplets deriving
from the Arabian rhyme-system. Occasionally, but not often,
a poet takes one of the lines, it may be the first or it may
be the second, of the Matla^ and repeats it as the rhyming-
line of the Maqta^ that is, as the last line of the Ghazel.
This operation, which is called Redd-i Matla'' or ' Return of
the Matla^' has sometimes a very pleasing effect, when the
line repeated is pretty or striking and falls naturally and aptly

into its place in either couplet. The second couplet of a
Ghazel, that immediately following the _Matla^ is technically
called the Husn-i Matla' or 'Beauty of the Matla',' and it
was a practice among the old poets to endeavour to make
it more beautiful or more ingenious than the Alatla"^ itself.
Just as the couplet immediately below the Matla*^ is called
the Husn-i Matla^ that immediately above the Maqta^ is
called the Husn-i Maqta"^; and just as the poet was supposed
to give the former a peculiar excellence, he was held to
make the latter likewise a verse of more than usual merit.
Thus the poet \>ould choose the best of the five couplets
that would remain after appropriating the Matla^ Husn-i
Matla*^ and Maqta*^ of a Ghazel of eight distichs, and would
place it immediately above the Maqta^ thus making it into
the Husn-i Maqta^ Of course the judgment of the poet
would not always be that of others, so the critics call
what they take to be the best couplet of a Ghazel, whatever
its position in the poem, the Shah-Beyt (or Sheh-Beyt), that
is, 'Couplet-Royal,' or sometimes, the Beyt-ul-Ghazel (or
Beyt-i Ghazel), that is 'Couplet of the Ghazel.' In point of
style the poem should be faultless; ail imperfect rhymes,
uncouth words and questionable expressions must be care-
fully avoided, and the same rhyme-word ought not to be
repeated. It is the most elegant and highly finished of all *^
the old poetic forms, and it is in it that the Ottoman poets
have the best opportunity for displaying their exquisite skill
as stylists. Hence perhaps the extraordinary popularity of
the form ; the number of Ghazels in the language is probably
greater than that of all the other poems put together. Love
in all its manifold phases — the charms of the beloved, the
rapture caused by her presence, the anguish born of her
absence or her harshness, — this forms the true and proper
subject of the Ghazel. What the sonnet was to the Italians

the Ghazel was to the Persians and Turks, the Hterary form
dedicated to the praise of Love. But notwithstanding this
we shall find that it was usual with the poets to refer in
their Ghazels to many other things, sometimes widely enough
removed from the master passion. But while the Ghazel may
thus be made to treat of anything, from the mission of the
Prophet to the introduction of coffee, ' there is a certain
narrow circle of subjects which seem to have been regarded
as the special and appropriate themes of this form of poetry.
Prominent among these are the pleasures of wine, the delights
of springtide, and the vicissitudes of fortune, with of course
the woes and joys of love in the foremost place of all. It
may be that a single Ghazel will touch on one and all of
these things, devoting a couplet or two to each ; for it is
a marked feature of the form that the several couplets stand
in no direct relationship to^ one another, so that they might
be arranged in any order without affecting the general sense
of the poem. All the same, although there may be no de-
finable connection between the individual couplets, these
ought never to be out of harmony with one another, and
a single tone of mind should run through a whole poem.
One writer has likened the Ghazel to a brilliant coruscating
with glorious colours and displaying many facets, but yet
a single whole. Such indeed is what ought to be, but in
practice we find that in a vast number of Ghazels, especially
when the work of mediocre writers, there is no more unity
of thought or feeling between the several couplets than there
is between the paragraphs in the columns of a newspaper.
It follows of necessity that each couplet must be complete
in itself, must contain a complete idea completely expressed.
The two lines often present a kind of parallelism, similar

1 Beli'ghi, a janissary poet of the time of Murad III, has a Ghazel on this
subject.

to what is found so largely in Ilcbicw poetry, the second
repeating, interpreting, or responding to the first. The coup-
lets of a Ghazel have frequently been compared to pearls
on a thread : the thread, they say, will make them one
necklace, but the value of the necklace must lie in the
beauty of each pearl, not in the thread. While this discur-
siveness characterises Ghazels as a class, it is far from being
universal; sometimes a writer treats a given subject, or at
least works a single vein of thought, throughout an entire
poem ; but even then, the couplets, being each an independent
entity, lead up' to nothing, and might be set down in any
order without detriment to the whole. Ghazels devoted to jjL
a single subject occur more frequently in the Fourth Period
than in earlier times; and nowadays unity of tone and— ^
sentiment, as well as avoidance of irrelevant digressions, is
aimed at by the writers of these little poems. For although
the Ghazel no longer maintains its old pre-eminence, it is
far from having fallen into desuetude, and almost every poet
of the New School has given us some examples of his slyll
in dealing with this old-time favourite. Fuziili, Baqi and */
Nedi'm are the most famous of the Ottoman Ghazel-writers;
of these, the first two belong to the Second, the third to 71
the Fourth Period.

V. The Qasi'da — which word in Arabic means 'Purpose-
Poem' — is in form similar to the ghazel, but is much longer.
Theoretically it contains not less than thirty and not more
than ninety-nine couplets. It is the original Arabian form,
that in which the famous Mu'^allaqat and other ancient Arabic
poems are written. In Persian and Turkish literature it is
the special form affected by the court poetry, its proper
subject being the eulogy of some great personage, a Sultan
or Vezir or Sheykh of Islam. The Ottoman Qasi'da consists

of two parts : the Nesib, which we may translate as the
'Exordium,' and the Maqsad or Maqsiid, literally the 'Pur-
pose,' which we may render as the ' Panegyric' The first
of these is often extremely beautiful; its subject, which is
definite, admitting of none of the discursiveness of the ghazel,
may depend upon the occasion on which the poem is written
and presented to the patron to whom it is dedicated. Thus
if it be during Ramazan, the Muslim Lent, or at the Bayram
Festival, the theme of the Exordium will likely be a poetical
account of the fast or of the feast; or if it be on the occasion
of the completion of a new palace or the laying out of a
garden, it will be a brilliant description of the same; or again
it may be simply a highly coloured picture of the season
of the year, spring, summer, autumn or winter, in which
the poem chances to be composed. But anything may be
taken as subject; sometimes it is the great man's horse,
or his sword, or his signet; sometimes it is a flower, as the
rose, the hyacinth or the tulip ; occasionally, as in the case
of a celebrated Qasida of Nef^i, the Exordium is purely
moral or philosophic. The Panegyric, which follows the
Exordium, has seldom any essential connection with it, and
*/ great dexterity is often shown by the poet in the way he
dovetails the one into the other ; a remote resemblance, a
momentary association of ideas, will serve him as a hinge,
and while he seems yet to be singing the delights of spring,
we find he has begun the glorification of his patron. ' The
Panegyric itself proceeds with all the pomp and splendour
of language which the poet can command ; and, when the
work of a master, the succession of long lines, with their
stately measure and gorgeous imagery, has something of

1 The couplet in which the transition is made bears the technical name
of Guri'z i.e. 'Flight,' or Gun'z-gah i.e. 'Place of the Flight;' some writers,
however, apply the term (kiriz-gah to the whole Nesi'b or 'Exordium.'

the magnificence of an imperial pageant, l^ut too often the
Panegyric is little more than a string of turgid and bom-
bastic epithets, the resonance and grandiloquence of which
)^ fail to conceal the banality and insincerity beneath. The
name of the patron is usually introduced near the beginning
of the Panegyric, while towards the end, in a couplet, which
is technically styled the Taj or 'Crown,' the writer mentions
his own name, and begins a prayer for the prosperity of
the great man, which closes the poem. Many writers intro-
duce a ghazel into their Qasidas, sometimes near the be-
ginning, sometimes near the end ; this ghazel is often osten-
sibly addressed to some unnamed beauty and has no intimate
connection with the Qasida itself beyond having the same
rhyme, being in the same metre, and occasionally deriving
its imagery from the same dominant subject. It is allowable
in a Qasida to repeat the same rhyme-word with the same
meaning, provided that at least seven couplets intervene,
but it is always better to dispense when possible with this
license. In poems of this class there are usually two or three
matla^s or rhyming couplets bedsides the opening distich ;
these are introduced here and there in the course of the
poem to break the long sequence of non-musarra*^ verses,
and sometimes by way of beginning as it were a new pa-
ragraph. ' In the Diwans, or volumes containing the collected
works of a poet, there is usually a rubric prefixed to each
Qasida setting forth its subject and mentioning the name
of the great man in whose honour it is composed; these
rubrics are usually in Persian. The best couplet of a Qasida
is technically called the Beyt-ul-Qasi'd or 'Couplet of the
Qasida.' The Qasida, which found its most brilliant exponent

' A Qasida containing such couplets is technically called Zat-ul-Matali'^ or
'Possessor of Matla's;' and the couplets themselves are respectively styled
the First Matla'^, Second Matla', Third Matla', and so on.

^in Nef^i of Erzerum, a gifted poet of the Third Period, has
in great measure passed out of fashion since the rise of the

X Modern School. Not only is that flattery of the great which
is its ultimate aim at variance with the better taste now
prevailing, but the poets of to-day rightly regard it as a
waste of time and ingenuity to get together some fifty or
sixty rhyming words and work these up to form the rhymes
of as many couplets, as the result must almost always be
a mere toi/r de force, often woefully strained and sadly
deficient in every element of true poetry. Thus Baqi, who
is one of the finest poets of the Second Period, has what
he calls his Hyacinth Qasida to the honour and glory of
his learned teacher Qaramani-zade Mehemmed Efendi, in
which he makes the word Sunbul, that is 'Hyacinth,' end
forty-nine lines, being preceded by as many words all rhyming
together, only one of which is repeated in the whole course
of the poem. The extreme difficulty of an achievement such
as this, to end nearly fifty couplets with a word like 'hya-
cinth,' prefixing to the same in each case a different rhyme-
word, and yet not only to preserve sense and avoid the
evidence of labour, but also to impart to the work the charm
•SL of poetry, must be apparent to all. In most languages the
feat would be simply impossible ; but the wealth of rhymes
in Turkish, together with the great freedom in arranging
the sequence of words allowed to, or at least taken by, the
old poets, render it somewhat less hopeless in their case
than it would be with us. Some writers, as it would appear
from mere bravado, go out of their way to choose a difficult
word for the redif of a Qasida ; thus the poet Sunbul-zade
Vehbi has a work of this class in which he makes the term
Sukhan 'Word' end a" hundred and twenty-eight lines, pre-
ceded of course by nearly as many different words all of'
which rhyme together. Effi^rts such as this are of necessity *

^foredoomed to be literary failures; but even when less am-
bitious, there are comparatively few writers whose Qasidas
are at once so correct and so poetical that we can justly
describe them as completely successful ; and the leaders of
the Modern School have done well in discouraging any further
waste of time and talent in so unprofitable a field.

VI. The Qit'a, literally 'Section,' is identical in form with
the ghazel except that the first couplet is non-musarra*^ instead
of being rhymed. Thus if the first couplet of a ghazel be
removed, the reihainder will be a Qit*^a so far as the form
is concerned. The poem, however, while it may treat of
almost any subject, must confine itself to that subject; the
theme may not be changed, as in the ghazel, with every
couplet. A Qit^a may be of any length from two couplets
upwards. In the longer Qit'^as it is usual for the poet to
introduce his name somewhere towards the close, but not
in the last couplet. This form is much used for the Tarikhs
or 'Chronograms,' of which more hereafter; but in these,
if the poet mentions his name, he generally does so in the
last distich.

The Nazm: This is simply a Qit'^a with a rhymed in
place of an unrhymed distich for the opening couplet, and
is therefore exactly the same as the ghazel in form. It differs
from the latter solely in the nature of its subjects, and in
the manner in which these are treated. The word Nazm
means 'Verse' in general, and this is its usual application;
but as a technical term it is the name of the verse-form
just described.

VII. The Mustezad, literally 'Complemented,' is formed
by adding to each misra^ or hemistich in a piece of verse
a short line called the Ziyade or 'Complement,' which may

be either read or omitted, the poem making equally good
sense in either case. When the piece of verse so treated is
a ghazel, it is usual to make each Ziyade rhyme with the
misra*^ to which it is affixed. Sometimes, however, the matla'^
and the second misra'^s of the succeeding Ziyade-couplets
have an independent rhyme of their own, leaving only the
first misra'^s of the Ziyade-couplets to rhyme with the first
misra^s of the couplets of the ghazel. There is only one
metre in which it is allowable to write a Mustezad. ' When
really well done, the Mustezad has a pleasing effect, but
the management of the Ziyade calls for a good deal of skill
on the part of the poet. The success of the poem depends
upon the happiness with which these short complementary
lines are worked in ; for while they must not materially
affect the sense of the poem, they should heighten the effect
of the whole by a series of graceful and significant touches.
When they fail of this, they are apt to degenerate into mere
padding.

VIII. The Ruba'^i (in the plural RubaS'y^t) or 'Quatrain'
is, as its name indicates, a short poem of four lines, the
first, second and fourth of which rhyme together, the third
remaining blank. This arrangement of the rhymes has a very
singular and pleasing effect, as the rhyme of the first two
lines, which seemed to be lost on the appearance of the
third, returns like an echo in the fourth and closes the little
poem in a manner at once grateful to the ear and satisfying
to the aesthetic sense. Occasionally the third line also is
rhymed, but then the result is less happy as the effect just
mentioned is absent. ^ There is a series of twenty-four metres,

' This is a variation of the fundamental metre called Hezej ; the misra"^

to which the Ziyade is added must scan : v^i ^ ^ \ ^ wi - ,

and the Ziyade : ^ | v.^ .

2 When the third line rhymes with the otheis the poem is called a Rubd'i-i
Musarra'^ or ' Rhymed Quatrain.'

all derived from the Hezej, peculiar to the lvuba*^i; in one
of these it must be written, and they may not be used for
any other form of poetry. The RubaS' may deal with any
subject, but it should do so in a forceful or epigrammatic
fashion. It is as a rule little more than a pregnant hint; the
poet seems, as it were, suddenly to see some point in a
new and unexpected light, this he suggests in four nervous
lines, making no comment, drawing no conclusion, the reader
being left to follow up for himself the train of thought when
he has recovered from the slight shock of surprise which
the perusal of a g6od Ruba'^i should at first produce. Each
RubaS' is a unit complete in itself, and has no connection
with any other. In his masterly adaptation of a selection of
the RubaS's of the Persian poet "^Omar-i Khayyam, the late
Edward Fitzgerald has so manipulated and arranged the
Quatrains chosen as to make them read as though there
were a certain orderly connection between them, as though
they followed one another in a naturally developing sequence,
in fact, as though they were stanzas in one long poem —
an idea never conceived, or at any rate never acted upon,
either by Khayyam or by any other Eastern poet. ' Ruba'^fs
when collected are always arranged, exactly as ghazels are,
according to a certain alphabetical system which we shall
learn by and by; the sense of the several poems (for, as
we have seen, each Ruba^i is a separate little poem) has
nothing whatever to do with the arrangement. "^Azmi-zade
Haleti, who flourished early in the Third Period, is said to
have been the most successful Ruba'^i-writer among the Otto-
mans. The Ruba^' is sometimes, but not often, called Du-Beyt
or ' Double-Couplet,' and occasionally Teranc, a word which
means, among other things, 'Melody' or 'Harmony.' This

> By far the best of the English translations of '^Omar-i Khayyam is that
by Mr. John Payne, (Villon Society, 1898.)

form is so short that the poet rarely mentions his name in it.
There is a native Turkish form which in the arrangement
of the rhyme is identical with the Ruba^i, but which is com-
posed in quite different metres. In East-Turkish literature
this form is cultivated and called the Tuyugh or Tuyuq. It
has never found its way into Ottoman literary poetry, but
it lives in the Ottoman folk-verses known as Mani.

The verse-forms deriving from the monorhyme-scheme that
still remain to be described are all stanzaic. It does not
follow that these forms, though based on the monorhyme,
are of Arabian origin ; some at least are most likely Persian,
while one (XI) is practically identical with a very early,
and probably original, Turkish form. The first two are really
but variations of a single model,

IX. The Terjf^-Bend (literally 'Return-Tie') is a poem
consisting of a succession of stanzas (called Terji'^-Khane or
* House of the Return ') in the same metre, but each with
a different rhyme. The stanzas are monorhyming and may
be rhymed either exactly in the ghazel style, or in the
manner called musarra'^ when the rhyme is repeated at the
end of every hemistich; but whichever system is adopted
in the first stanza must be adhered to throughout the poem.
The number of couplets is the same in each stanza, and is
never less than five and rarely more than ten. To each
stanza is added, as it were, a refrain, an unvarying rhymed
couplet, which has the same metre as the rest of the poem,
and may or may not rhyme with the opening stanza. This
rhyming couplet is called the Wasita or ' Link,' or else the
Bend or 'Tie.' Some writers, however, apply the term Bend
to the Terji'^-Khane and Wasita taken together.

X. The Terkib-Bend (literally, 'Composite Tie') is exactly
the same as the preceding except that the Wasita closing
the several stanzas (in this case called Terkib-Khanc) varies
on each occasion.

The TerjC^-Bend and Terkib-Bend are much used for elegies; (WP (a^9

they are also employed for mystic, philosophic, and con- (Ji^ '^ J

templative poetr\- in general. Towards the close of the last

stanza, but not in the Wasita, the poet mentions his name.

The Terji'^-Bend is reckoned the more difficult form of the

two, in as much as the several stanzas have to be so worked

up that the recurring Wasita falls naturally and appropriately

into its place at the end of each. In the Terkib-Bend, where

the Wasita varies with every stanza, the poet has of course

a much freer hand.

We now reach a second group of stanzaic verse-forms,
each member of which has a special name descriptive of
the number of lines in the stanza. We shall begin with the
shortest and simplest.

XI. The Murebba"^ or 'Foursome' is a poem consisting
of a succession of four-line stanzas called Bend or 'Tie.' The
fourth line of the first stanza may or may not rhyme with
the other three which must all rhyme together. But what-
ever be the rhyme of the fourth line of the first stanza,
that rhyme must be repeated in the fourth line of every
succeeding stanza, while the first three lines of each of
these must take a new rhyme. Sometimes the fourth line
of the first stanza is repeated as the fourth line of each one
following, and is thus made into a sort of refrain ; in this
case the poem is known as a Murebba'^-i Mutekerrir or
'Repeating Foursome.' Sometimes these fourth lines, while
rhyming together, vary with each stanza, then the poem

is called a Murebba'^-i Muzdevij or 'Pairing Foursome.'
As has been already said, the rhyme-arrangement of the
Murebba^ is practically identical with one of the most pop-
ular and most characteristic of the original Turkish rhyme-
schemes, that on which most of Ahmed-i Yesevi's poems
and the whole of '^Ali's Joseph and Zelikha are written.

The Terbi^: Sometimes a writer builds a Murebba^ on a
poem, usually a ghazel, of some other author. He does this
by prefixing two lines of his own to each couplet of the
poem he has taken as the basis of his work. These two
lines, which are called the Zamime or 'Addition,' must be
in the same metre as the poem worked on. In the first of
the four-line stanzas thus formed both lines of the Zamime
must rhyme with the matla'^ of the ghazel taken as basis,
which of course forms the last two lines of the verse ; but
in each of the succeeding stanzas the lines of the Zamime
must rhyme with the first or non-rhyming line of the mufred
to which they are prefixed. The result is of course a perfect
Murebba'^-i Muzdevij. The difficulty in the Terbi'^ (and in
the similar Takhmis and Tesdis) is to make the Zamime
blend naturally and gracefully with the lines to which it is
prefixed ; it should so harmonise with these both in feeling
and in language that the whole poem appear to be the work
of one and the same writer. When this is not achieved, the
stanzas have a patchy look, and the result is failure.

XII. The Mukhammes or 'Fivesome': This is exactly the
same as the Murebba*^ except that here each stanza consists
of five instead of four lines. It also may be either Mutekerrir
or Muzdevij, according as the last line of the first stanza
is repeated or varied in those that follow. Sometimes, how-
ever, the lines are divided by the rhyme into groups of
three and two instead of four and one. In this case the

first three lines of each stanza take a diftcrent rhyme, while
the last two keep the same rhyme throughout. Here again
the poem may be either Mutekerrir or Muzdevij. In the
Mukhammes, though it is usual, it is not essential that the
fifth line, or the fourth and fifth lines, of the opening stanza
rhyme with the four, or three, that precede.

The Takhmis : This is to the Mukhammes what the Terbi*^
is to the Murebba^ namely, a Mukhammes built upon an
earlier poem. It is formed in precisely the same way as the
Terbi"^ except that three instead of two new lines are prefixed
to each couplet of ,*he poem chosen for basis, which here
again is generally a ghazel. There is another and somewhat
simpler variety of the Takhmis in which the poet constructs
his Mukhammes, not upon a whole ghazel, but upon a single
hemistich or upon a single couplet. In this case, if his basis
be a line, he prefixes to it four, and if it be a couplet, three
rhyming hemistichs of his own, which for the first stanza
usually rhyme with the basis, but in each of those succeeding
take a new rhyme. Such a Takhmis must necessarily be Mu-
tekerrir. There is no necessary limit to the number of stanzas
in a Takhmis of this class, whereas in a poem built on a
ghazel the number of stanzas must of course be that of the
couplets in the basis. Tiic effect produced by a good Takh-
mis is far more pleasing than that to be obtained from an
equally well constructed Terbi"^, and as a consequence the
former stands in much higher favour. Thus while Terbi"^s
are comparatively rare, examples of the Takhmis abound
in Ottoman literature, especially during the later Periods.

XIII. The Museddes or 'Sixsome': In this form, which
is similar to the two preceding, each stanza consists of six
lines or, in other words, of three couplets. The four lines of
the first and second couplets of each stanza rhyme together,

but in each stanza they take a new rhyme. The third coup-
let of the first stanza may or may not rhyme with the
two that precede, and it may or may not be repeated as
the third couplet of each following stanza, and the Museddes
is Mutekerrir or Muzdevij, accordingly. As with the Murebba'^
and the Mukhammes, here also when the poem is Muzdevij
the final rhyme must be retained throi5ghout. This is one
point in which poems of this second stanzaic group differ
from the Terkib-Bend where the several Wasitas have each
a separate and independent rhyme. Occasionally, though rarely,
the two lines of the third couplets do not rhyme together;
when this is the case each line rhymes with its correspondent
in the other stanzas, that is, the fifth lines of all the stanzas
rhyme together, and so do the sixth lines, though they do
not rhyme with each other.

The Tesdis : This is similar to the Terbi^ and the Takhmis,
and is a Museddes built upon some previous work, usually
a couplet, as in the second form of the second variety of
the Takhmis. The same rules as to rhyme and metre hold
for the Tesdis as for the Terbf and Takhmis.

Similar to the Murebba^ the Mukhammes and the Mu-
seddes are:

XIV. The Musebba' or 'Sevensome,'

XV. The Musemmen or 'Eightsome,'

XVI. The Mutessa' or 'Ninesome,' and

XVII. The Mu^ashsher or 'Tensome,'

in which the stanzas consist of seven, eight, nine and ten
lines respectively, and all of which are of very rare occur-
rence.

The subjects of poems of this second stanzaic group are
generally those treated in the ghazcl, but such poems are

not so discursive as that favourite form, tlicy keep as a
rule more strictly to the matter in hand. The poet mentions
his name in the last stanza.

With this group closes the series of Ottoman verse-forms
derived from the Arabian rhyme-system, and there now
remains to be described only that one form which is of
purely Turkish origin.

In Turkish popular poetry, that which is the peculiar pos-
session "of the uneducated classes, and is the outcome of
the native genius urinfluenced by Persian or French models,
the feet are, in accordance with the true Turkish system,
syllabic, not metric, and the rh)me is frequently very im-
perfect, sometimes merely assonant.

The generic name for the Turkish popular ballad is Turki,
that is 'Turkish (-song),' — itself an eloquent witness to the
national character thereof. These Turkis, which are sung all
over the country, especially in the humbler circles of society,
are of various forms which differ slightly from one another.
One of the most popular of these is a succession of four-
line stanzas, the first three lines of each of which rhyme
with one another, while all the fourth lines, which may be
the same throughout or may vary with each stanza, rhyme
together. Some of the oldest known Turkish poems, such
as "^Ali's Joseph and /^elikha and many of the pieces in
Ahmed-i Yesevi's Diwan-i Hikmet, ' are, as we have seen,
written in this form, which strengthens our belief that in
the Turki we have a survival of the ancient pre-Persian
poetry of the Turkish peoples. It is this variety of the Turki

' In many of Yesevi's poems the first stanza is irregularly rhymed, the
second line often rhyming with the fourth instead of with the first and third,
which two occasionally do not even rhyme together. All these variations
reappear in the Ottoman Turki.

which about the end of the Third Period, when the native
genius began to assert itself, was dressed up as a new Hterary
form and christened

XVIII. The Sharqi, that is, 'Eastern.' In the Sharqi the
syllabic feet of the turki are replaced by metric feet of the
orthodox description, the faulty rhymes are done away with,
while the ungrammatical or provincial expressions are banished.
In short, the poem becomes a perfectly correct composition
written in accordance with the prevailing Persian rules of
literary art. But the memory of its humble origin is pre-
served in the simple nature of the feeling that characterises
it and of the language in which that feeling is expressed.
The ingenious conceits and rhetorical exuberances that are
held to increase the merit of a ghazel or a qasida would be
reckoned out of place in a Sharqi; similarly, the Persian
idioms and constructions which are sought after in the other
verse-forms are avoided here, and their place is taken by
a more homely phraseology. The tone of the Sharqi is nearly
always gay, and the meaning clear and straightforward. The
subject is almost invariably love, simple human love, very
often it is an invitation to the beloved to come out for a
stroll to the Sweet Waters of Europe or some other favourite
promenade. Another reason of the greater simplicity of the
Sharqis is that they were meant to be sung. The ghazels
were no doubt occasionally sung, but they were primarily
intended to be read. But the Sharqi is the literary develop-
ment of the turki which is essentially a song; it is therefore
a song written in conformity with the canons of poetic art,
and as such it is intended to be heard, not to be read and
re-read hke the other forms, and consequently it must be
simple. Another feature of its parent, the turki, retained by
the Sharqi is its comparative freedom in certain minor points

regarding form, thus the recurring Hne which closes the sev-
eral stanzas, and which is called the Naqarat or 'Chorus,'
is very often used also as the second line of the first stanza,
which thus becomes irregular. Again, the Naqarat may
vary with each stanza, as in the niurebba'^-i muzdevij. In
the terminology of music the name Miyan or 'Middle' is
given to that portion of the music of the song to w^hich
the third stanza of a Sharqi is sung; this music is taken
to be the most touching and impressive passage of the
whole composition, and the poet is supposed to make his
third stanza which b."ars the special name of Miyan-Khane
or 'Middle-House,' likewise the most tender and afifectin<Jf
of the poem. The poets Nedim and Wasif are perhaps the
most famous of the Sharqi'-writers.

Monorhyming poetry has occasionally a secondary rhyme;
when this is the case, each couplet has, besides the final
rhyme common to the whole poem, a special rhyme of its
own which is usually repeated three times, namely, in the
middle and at the end of the first hemistich and in the
middle of the second, an arrangement which has the effect
of cutting up the distich into four divisions. When poetry
is rhymed in this manner it is said to be Musemmat.
Musemmat rhyme, which is simply the Murebba' arrange-
ment adapted to the couplet, seems to have been peculiarly
pleasing to the Turkish ear, and most likely formed part
of the original native system. As already said, we find
it in the ancient pre-Ottoman poetry produced in Central
Asia; and it forms the most striking characteristic of
the first rude efforts in lyric verse made by the Western
Turks.

The eighteen varieties which have been described consti-

tute the series of verse-forms used in Ottoman poetry down
to the time when the Modern School revolutionised the
entire literary system; but there still remain for consideration
a few names which indicate not the form of a poem, but
the nature of its contents. Leaving aside such terms as
Medhiye or 'Eulogy,' Hijv or 'Satire,' Mersiye or 'Elegy'
and Hezeliyat or ' Facetiae,' which denote varieties common
to all literatures and call for no explanation, we shall confine
ourselves to those which are more peculiarly Oriental.

Foremost among such is the Tarikh or 'Chronogram.' This
is a word or set of words the numerical values of the letters '
forming which give on addition the year of the Hijre,
or Muhammedan era, wherein occurred the event to which
such word or set of words refers. Of course a Chronogram
need not be in verse , but it generally is. In this case it is
usually comprised in the last line of a short poem in the
qit^a form which narrates the event the date of which the
Chronogram embodies. When every letter in this final he-
mistich is included in the addition, and when this gives the
exact sum required, the Chronogram is called a Tarikh-i
Tamm or 'Perfect Chronogram.' When only the dotted let-
ters are to be reckoned, the Tarikh is said to be Jevherdar
or Jevherin, that is, 'Gemmed;' when only the undotted
letters, it is said to be Muhmel, that is, 'Unmarked.' Some-
times the sum of the letters in the last line is either more
or less than is required ; recourse has then to be had to a
device technically called Ta'^miye or ' Enigmatizing,' which
consists in suggesting to the reader by a cleverly contrived
hint the sum which must be deducted from or added to
the total yielded by the chronogrammatic line. - Offering,

1 Every letter in the Ottoman alphabet has a numerical value.

2 An example may help to make this clearer. Belgrade was won back from
the Austrians by Mehemmed Pasha in the year of the Hijre 1152 (A. D.

as it does, a w idc field for the exercise of ingenuity, the
Chronogram was naturally a great favourite with the Turkish
poets. It has been cultivated more or less at all times, but
it reached its highest point of popularity about the beginning
of the nineteenth century when flourished the greatest of
all the (Ottoman chronogrammatists, Suriiri, who possessed
an extraordinary talent for improvising Chronograms — an
almost impossible feat, one would have thought.

The composition of what are called Naziras has likewise
been at all times a very favourite exercise with the Turkish
poets. The name Nazi'ra or 'Parallel' is given to a poem
written in emulation of one by another writer. The Nazi'ra
must be in the same metre and have the same rhyme and
the same redif (if there be one) as the poem emulated ; it
should moreover be conceived in a similiar spirit. The fas-
cination of Xazira-writing lay in the endeavour to outdo
one's fellow-craftsman on his own chosen ground. Thus a
poet might select as redi'f for a ghazel or qasida some word
or phrase which had never been so used before, and which
was particularly hard to lit in neatly and correctly. This
he would work in at the end of his verses with all the skill
at his command ; and when the poem was published, it would
be recognised by his brother-artists as a challenge to which
their literary zeal and their threatened reputation alike

1739). Raghib Pasha commemorated this victory in the following chronogram:

LiiLi sX.4^ (^^' iS"^ -"^"-^ u>! jti^ » ry^-p ("^Jp 1^1*^ XxiJ i^^.Li:;*-

' Driving out the paynim host, 1 have told the chronogram thereof:
'Mehemmed Pasha hath taken the fortress of Belgrade.'
Here the sum of the letters in the second (the chronogrammatic) line is 2003,
which is 851 in excess of what is required. Now the sum of the letters in
the words Xsj jX^ 'the paynim host' is 851; this, we are told, has been
'driven out,' so we understand that we must 'drive out' or subtract the sum
851 from 2003, on doing which we get 1152, the year of the victory.

100

would constrain them to respond. But 'Parallels' were not
written only to the verses of contemporaries or immediate
predecessors ; the poets often composed them to the works
of men long dead whose style they admired and whose
verses they were fain to rival. The term Nazira is used
only in connection with poems written on the monorhyme
system. When one poet sought to 'parallel' a long mesnevi
of another, his work was called a Jewab or 'Response' to
that of the latter. Thus the Suhbet-ul-Ebkar or 'Communion
of Virgins' by the Ottoman poet '^Ata^' is said to be a
Jewab or 'Response' to the Subhet-ul-Ebrar or 'Rosary of
the Just ' by the Persian Jami. This same term, Jewab, is
applied to a Khamsa or 'Quintet,' that is, a series of five
mesnevis, when this is written to 'parallel' an earlier series.

There are two classes of verse composition, the Lughaz
or 'Riddle' and the Mu^mma or 'Enigma,' which, though
they can hardly lay claim to being poetry, were largely
cultivated by many poets and often form a special chapter
in the Diwans or collections of a poet's works. The first of
these, the Lughaz or 'Riddle,' is simply a versified conun-
drum in which from a more or less fantastic description the
name of the object which is the answer may be guessed.
Rut the Mu^amma or 'Enigma' or 'Logogriph' is an extra-
ordinarily subtle and ingenious variety of conceit such as
the Eastern mind revels in. The answer, which is almost
always supplied — so hard is the puzzle, — is usually a proper
name, and is arrived at by the manipulation, in accordance
with certain conventions, of some of the words and letters
contained in the two lines of which the 'Enigma' generally
consists. '

' This 'Enigma' on the name "^Abbas by the poet Hashmet will serve as
an example of the class: —

lOI

Hymns, wlion addressed to God, are called Munajat; when
addressed to the Prophet, they are styled Na*^t. There are
usually some of each class among the collected works of
a poet.

The Mesnevis alone have individual titles. In the case of
romances these are as a rule formed of the names of the
hero and heroine, as 'Khusrev and Shfrin;' in the case of
didactic poems they are often purely fanciful, as Nefhat-ul-
Ezhar 'The Waft of the Flowers;' sometimes the title may
be indicative of the subject of the work, as Saqi-Name 'The
Book of the Cupbearer,' which is the name of many poems
dealing with the pleasures of wine w^hether literal or allegoric.

Qasidas are often distinguished by a title taken from the
subject of the exordium, or from the word that forms the
redif, or, where there is no redi'f, from the last letter of the
rhyming words. Thus a Qasida-i Behariya or 'Spring Qasi'da,'
is one the exordium of which describes the spring season,
a Gul Qasidasi or 'Rose Qasi'da' is one where the word
gul or ' rose " forms the redif, and a Qasida-i Ra^iye or ' R
Qasida' is one in which the rhyme- words end in the let-
ter R.

LLbas-i husnina goz dikdi "^alem:
Niqdb-i zulfini ref" etdi didem.
'On the vestment of her beauty did the world fw its gaze;
' My eye set aside the veil of her curls (i. e. I saw her face through them).'
To get at the solution here we see the 'eye' must 'set aside' or replace
the 'curl.' Now the word for 'eye' in the verse is h^Xj^ (dide), but there
is another word with the same meaning, namely r-y*;^ C*yi^)i ^^^ ^^is word
is also the name of the letter c ; again, according to a convention that holds
in Enigmas the word -curl' may be used (because of the form of a curl) to
represent the letter J. So we have somewhere to replace a j by a c; doing

this in the word (j«LJ (libas) 'vestment,' we get ;j*L^c C^Abb^s), which is
the name we wish.

I02

The term Diwan is applied to the vokime which contains
the collected works of a poet, excepting long mesnevis
which usually form separate and independent books. In a
Diwan all the pieces in the same verse-form are grouped
together, the several groups forming as it were so many
chapters or sections. Within certain limits the order or
sequence of these groups or chapters is fixed; the qasidas
always come before the ghazels, these before the ruba^is,
and these before the independent distichs and hemistichs,
which last generally close the volume. The position of the
chronograms and other qit^as and of pieces in the stanzaic
forms is not so rigidly determined, but these usually come
between the qasidas and the ghazels. The position of any
short mesnevis that may be included is likewise unsettled.
The enigmas, when there are any, form a subdivision of the
chapter of independent distichs.

The ghazels alone are arranged among themselves in a
fixed order, the poems of the other classes following one
another in their several chapters at hap-hazard and without
method. The ghazels are arranged in alphabetical order;
not however according to the first letter of the poem, but
according to the last letter of the rhyming lines, which is
of course the same throughout the poem. Thus all the gha-
zels in which the rhyming lines end in the first letter of
the alphabet are brought together and made into the first
subdivision of the chapter; similarly those in which the rhym-
ing lines end in the second letter of the alphabet are
collected and formed into the second subdivision, and so on
through the whole alphabet.

When the ruba'^is are so numerous as to form a volume by
themselves (as occasionally happens), they are arranged in
this same alphabetical order.

103

Although the practice is now falhng somewhat into desue-
tude, it used to be the ahiiost universal custom for every
Turk when he became a writer of any sort, were it only
a clerk in a Government office, to assume or to have given
to him wliat is called a Makhlas, that is a pen-name or
pseudonym, b\' which, unless he were a member of the Im-
perial family, he was ever afterwards commonly known.
Thus such names as Fuziili, Nef^i, Haleti and Ghalib are
all the ]\Iakhlases of the several poets, not their personal
names by which no one ever thinks of or mentions them.
The Makhlas is always a significant word ; it is almost in-
variably Arabic, very rarely Persian, never Turkish. The
practice of using a Makhlas came into force among the
Ottomans about the time of the invasion of Timur early in
the fifteenth century.

There are a few other class-names descriptive of the char-
acter or subject of a poem; but these are of comparatively
rare occurrence and will be better dealt with in the course
of the History.

Comparatively few poets wrote to any considerable extent
in mesnevi-verse ; the monorhyming forms (among which
is included the sharqi) were for several reasons much more
popular. For the sake of convenience we shall speak of those
monorhyming forms collectively as Lyric Forms, of the
work composed in them as Lyric Poetry, and of the poets
who produced such work as Lyric Poets.

(Alu

W'^

It is of course the Perso-Arabian prosodial system that
prevails in Ottoman poetry. But this system is essentially
unsuitable; for while the Perso-Arabian prosody is quanti-
tative, there are, strictly speaking, no long vowels in the
Turkish language. '
*^f^ Ancient Turkish poetry, as exemplified in the Qudatqu

Bilik, the Diwan-i Hikmet of Ahmed-i Yesevi and the Joseph
and Zelikha of '^Ali, is constructed upon a very simple system
which is in perfect harmony with the genius of the language.
This system, which has all along prevailed in the popular
songs and ballads, that is, in the true, spontaneous poetry
of the Turkish people, is called Parmaq-Hisabi ^ or 'Finger
Counting,' and is not quantitative, like the Perso-Arabian,
but is syllabic, the lines consisting of a given number of
syllables, generally from seven to fifteen, with a caesura after

' The presence of i , j or (^ in a Turkish word does not indicate, as it

would in an Arabic or Persian word, a long vowel 5 these letters ai"e intro-
duced merely as guides to the pronunciation ; and thus in early books written
while the orthography was quite unfixed we find spellings like Si which may

stand for either ^•rJ^J or -;^^;^J, and J' which may stand for either .y' C-^')
or jVi' . The letters I, ^ and (^ were subsequently introduced into these and
other words in order to avoid confusion, not to indicate long vowels. So it
is incorrect in transliterating to mark such vowels as long; thus iJ\y
'pretty' ought to be transliterated guzel, not guzel or guzel, which is not
only inaccurate, but is misleading, as the accent falls not on the first, but
on the second syllable.

2 Or, in more high-flown language, Hisab-ul-Benan.

I05

every third or fourth, while the cadence is determined by
the fall of the accent. But this method, though so well suited
to the language out of which it has grown, has never been
systematised, the metres of which it contains the germs have
never been developed, indeed, even the existing cadenced
arrangements of syllables remain unclassified and unnamed.

In the earliest West-Turkish literary verse, that written
between the years 700 (1300-1) and 800 (i 397-8), this system
is generally, though not universally, employed. The poets
of those days tcok considerable license; their metres, it is
true, were always Persian, but while they made the feet as
a rule syllabic, they would frequently, merely to suit their
own convenience, treat them as quantitative. This blending
of the Turkish and Persian systems is characteristic of that
period; for it is noteworthy that there is scarcely a trace of
the Turkish method of scansion in the poetry produced
after the invasion of Timur at the beginning of the fifteenth
century. That calamitous event forms a landmark in the
development of West-Turkish poetry, that which is on the
hither side being far less Turkish and more Persian than
that which is on the farther.

The native Turkish metres fared even worse than the
native Turkish system of scansion. But these metres were
so like the Persian both in the number of their syllables
and in their cadence that their supercession by, or rather
their absorption into, the latter was inevitable as soon as
the Turks began to look to Persia for guidance. Thus the
metre of the Qudatqu Bilik is very like the Persian Muta-
qarib of the Shah-Name; while the special eleven-syllable
metre of the Tuyugh or East-Turkish quatrain is practically
identical with the second form of the Remel described a
little farther on. Things being so, it is but natural that while
traces of the native system of scansion linger on for a century

io6

in West-Turkish poetry, there should be no equally obvious
vestiges of the ancient metres.

In the prosodial system elaborated by the Arabs and
adopted by the Persians a vowel is long either naturally or
by position. It is long naturally when accompanied by one
of the letters of prolongation, it is long by position when
followed by two consonants. When this prosody came to be
systematically applied to the Turkish language, while there
was no trouble as to the vowels that were long by position,
the poets found themselves confronted with a difficulty in
connection with the vowels that were accounted long nat-
urally; for there are no long vowels in Turkish words, the
presence in such of any of those letters which in Arabic or
Persian mark prolongation being merely a guide to the pro-
nunciation. They therefore determined that while the vowels
n such Arabic and Persian words as were used in Turkish
should continue to bear the same value as in their proper
language, these vowels which in purely Turkish words are
accompanied by what in Arabic or Persian would be reckoned
a letter of prolongation, while remaining normally and prop-
erly short, might by a license be regarded as long when
the exigencies of metre so required. This license, which is
technically called Imale or 'Inclination,' was very largely
used by the old poets ; but unless employed for some special
purpose, such as to give additional emphasis to a word, its
presence is as a rule a defect from an artistic point of view,
as it not only imparts a lumbering movement to the lines,
but a feeling of discomfort is evoked on encountering words
thus as it were racked on a Procrustean bed.
^^^ The Perso-Arabian prosodial system, in accordance with
which is composed all Ottoman literary poetry of the Old
School, is exceedingly elaborate and intricate. The whole
subject is technical in the highest degree, and any attempt

10/

to explain the principles upon which it is built and the laws
by which it is regulated would be out of place in this History.
Such a study would moreover be of no practical utility for
our purpose here which will be better served by learning
what actually are the metres most commonly used by the
Ottoman poets.

In the Arabian prosody as modified by the Persians and
accepted by the Turks there are some dozen or more distinct
metres, ' each of which, besides its normal or standard form,
comprises a number of variations. Each of these metres has
a special name, and each of the variations has a compound
name which is held to describe by more or less remote
analogy the nature of its departure from the normal form.
The following are the most usual in Ottoman poetry: —
I. The normal form of the metre called Hezej ; it is: — ^

This is much used in lyric poetry, especially for ghazels
and qasidas.

The following are all variations of the Hezej : —

This measure is much used for mesnevis. Composed in it
we have amongst others Sheykhi's Khusrev u Shirin, Zati's
Shem"^ u Perwane, Mesihi's Shehr-engiz, Ahi's Khusrev u Shirin,
Hamdi's Leyli u Mejnun, Kemal-Pasha-zade's Yusuf u Zelikha,
Lami'i's Vise u Ramin and Yahya Bey's Yiisuf u Zelikha.

The above is chiefly used for lyric forms.

This is another favourite for mesnevis; the two finest in
the language, Fuziili's Leyli u Mejnun and Sheykh Ghalib's

' The authorities differ as to the exact theoretical number; but practically
only eight are in use among the Turks.

2 In every case the scheme shown is that of a single hemistich.

io8
Husn u "^Ashq, are both written in it ; so is Nabi's Khayrabad.

This is a lyric measure.
(/ II. Two forms only of the Rejez metre are used; the
standard : —

and this variation : —

Both are lyric.

III. Of the Remel metre four forms, all variations, are
in use.

This, which is a very favourite lyric measure, finds a fairly
close English parallel in the fifteen syllable trochaic measure
rendered familiar by Tennyson's ' Locksley Hall.'

— ^ — — I— w — — I— W — _|_w —

Locksley Hall that in the distance overlooks the sandy flats.

This form is used both for mesnevis and lyrics. It is the
measure in which the great Persian poet Mevlana Jelal-ud-
Din wrote his famous Mesnevi-i Ma^nevi, which book, as
we shall see in another chapter, gave the keynote for the
earliest Turkish poetry; and so this was the measure in which
the first poets composed their mesnevis, the Rebab-Name
of Sultan Veled, the Gharib-Name of 'Ashiq Pasha, the Mevlid
of Suleyman Chelebi and the Iskender-Name of Ahmedi
being all in this variation of the Remel.

This is a lyric measure.

The following measure has four forms which may be used
together indiscriminately: —

-_i_i — I K^ \^ — I —

— \^ I w*-* — — I Wv^

I09

\^>^ — I v-/\^ I ^^W

This is chiefly used for mcsncvis ; in it are composed Yahya
Bey's Genjine-i Raz, Khaqani's Hilye-i Sherif, '^Ata^"s Suhbet-
uI-Ebkar, Xabi's Khayn'ya, and Fazil Bey's Khuban-Name,
Zenan-Name and Deftcr-i ^Ashq.

IV. Practically only one form of the metre Seri"^ is used;

it is a variation : —

— \^ \j — I — \j \j — 1 — -^ —

Yahya Bey's Gulshen-i Envvar and "^Ata'i's Nefhat-ul-Ezhar
are written in this.

V More popular is the following variation of the metre
Khafi'f; this like the fourth variety of the Remel has four
forms which are used together indiscriminately : —

— \^ — — I \^ — ^-' — I — —

V^ I Vy V-/ I \-/v.^

\^ \^ I W X-* — I -^

N^-^ I K^ V^ I \^ \J

In this we have Hamdi's Yiisuf u Zelikha, Fazli's Gul
u Bulbul, Yahya Bey's Shah u Geda, 'Atari's Heft-Kh'an and
""Izzet Molla's Gulshen-i "Ashq.

VI. Three variations of the metre called Muzari'^ are often
met with : —

w| \j I v^l 1^

and
and

These are all lyric measures.

VII. Of the Mujtes metre one variation is in pretty frequent
use; it too is lyric: —

VIII. One variation of the Mutaqarib metre is frequent : —

This is chiefly used for mesnevis; in it are written Yahya
Bey's Kitab-i Usui, the Saqi-Names of Haleti, of "^Ata^i and
of the Sheykh of Islam Yahya Efendi, also the Zafer-Name
of Sabit and the Mihnet-Keshan of '^Izzet Molla.

In one or other of the measures represented by the fore-
going eighteen schemes is written almost the whole of the
literary poetry of Turkey, the only notable exception being
the ruba^is or quatrains, which have a series of measures
peculiar to themselves. There are twenty-four of these ruba'^i-
measures, all modifications of a variation of the Hezej metre;
and the four lines of a single ruba"^! may be in any four
of these.

It is manifestly impossible to exactly reproduce the Oriental
measures in an English translation ; the frequent successions
of long syllables alone would forbid this. But a sufficiently
close approximation may be obtained by preserving identity
in the number of syllables and arranging the accents so that
the cadence of the original is suggested ; thus the English
fifteen syllable trochaic measure already mentioned supplies
a very fair representative of the most popular of the Remel
forms.

The ^Ilm-i Belaghat, the Perso-Arabian Art of Rhetoric,
was till the last quarter of the nineteenth century the only
rhetorical system k lown to the Ottomans.

This Eastern Art of Rhetoric is divided into three great
branches: (i) the ^Ilm-i Ma'^ani or 'Science of Significations,' -(j'**'^"'
which deals with the arrangement of periods and the ap-
propriate employment of phrases : (2) the "^Ilm-i Beyan or _ j
'Art of Exposition,' which treats of the various ways in
which a thought or idea may be expressed: (3) the '^Ilm-i -u"'/
Bedi"^ or 'Art of Verbal Embellishment' or, as we may render
it, the 'Art of Euphuism,' which explains the nature and
use of the rhetorical figures that form the decorative element
in literary work.

With the first of these three branches, the "^Ilm-i Ma'^ani,
we are not here concerned. The second, the "^Ilm-i Beyan,
which has four subdivisions, deals with a series of figures
founded on resemblance or contiguity, such as the simile,
metaphor, synecdoche and metonymy, which, though dif-
ferently classed, are essentially the same as with ourselves,
and therefore require no description. ' It is the third branch,

• The four subdivisions of the ilm-i Beyan are :

(i) The Teshbih or 'Comparison' (including both our Simile and Metaphor).
(2) The Isti'dre or ' Trope,' that is the employment of a word in other
than its proper sense, thus in this line of Sheykhi ,

'^She veiled the day with the night,'

112

the ^Ilm-i Bedi"^, the 'Art of Euphuism,' which renders it
necessary for us to give some attention to Eastern rhetoric,
for here we have a number of highly characteristic figures,
many of which have no counterpart in our own manuals.

In the Art called Bedi^ or 'Euphuism' there is then a
large number of Figures (technically called San^at), each of
which is in most cases minutely subdivided. Most of these
figures are common to poetry and prose ; but some are peculiar
to poetry, while others again are peculiar to prose. The
last of these sections we shall leave out of sight as not
being pertinent to our present subject, and confine our
attention to the more important or more characteristic figures
of the other two.

Some of these are either so familiar to us already, or bear
names so self-explanatory, that they call for no description.
Such are the Tazadd or 'Antithesis;' the Mubalagha or
'Hyperbole;' ' the Telmih or 'Allusion;' ^ the Ruju^or 'Epa-
northosis;' the Iqtibas or 'Quotation' (from the Koran or

the words 'day' and 'night,' which stand respectively for 'face' and 'hair'
are isti''ares or 'tropes.'

(3) The Mejaz-i Mursel or 'Synecdoche.'

(4) The Kinaye or ' Metonymy.'

In the last two cases the translations are merely approximate, as several
classes of the Mejaz-i Mursel would be reckoned by Western rhetoricians as
varieties of the Kinaye or ' Metonymy,' and vice versa. Each of these four
subdivisions of the Beyan is further divided into numerous classes. The
modern Ottoman rhetoricians restrict the Kinaye to ' Inuendo,' which in old
times was one of its classes.

' The Mubalagha or 'Hyperbole' is divided into three classes:
(i) Tebligh, when the exaggeration is possible both to reason and ex-
perience.

(2) Ighraq, when the exaggeration is possible to reason but not to ex-
perience.

(3) Ghuluvv, when the exaggeration is possible neither to reason nor to
experience.

2 i. e. allusions to incidents in history, romance, etc., with which the
cultured reader is supposed to be familiar.

i'3

Hadis); and the Tazmin or 'Quotation' (from another poet). '
But with most of the tii^ures the case is otherwise; and the
more popular of these we shall now briefly consider.

Among the greatest favourites in the group of figures that
depend upon the sense of the words, and not upon their
position in the verse or upon their form, are the following: —

Trusn-T Ta^rfTor '.'ETtToIogy:' this figure, the name of which
literally translated means 'Eloquent Assignment of Cause,'
consists in the assignment of some graceful but fictitious
reason for some fact or occurrence, as in this couplet: —

'Within the gaCh the Rose hath hid behind the verdant leaves,
'• Shame-faced, her glory humbled by the lustre of your cheek.' ^

Here the poet attributes the rose's being red and its growing
behind some leaves to the discomfited flower's blushes and
its desire to conceal itself on having been outdone in beauty
by the cheek of the lady he addresses. This figure, which,
when prettily conceived and expressed, is extremely graceful,
is of very frequent occurrence.

Ill aril (sometimes called Tevriye) or 'Amphibology:' this
is a kind of pun, and consjsts in the employment of a word
or phrasehaying more than one appropriate meaning whereby
the reader is often left in dgubt^as_tojthe real signification
of the passage. As a rule the more unusual meaning is that
really intended; and if this should give offence, the poet
can always protest that he employed tiiejword in its ordi-
nary sense. The very numerous instances in which a poet
plays upon the meaning of his own name are examples of
the I ham.

Closely allied to the foregoing is the 'Iham-i Tenasub or

1 In the Tazmin the poet quotes the first line of a couplet by another
poet, but substitutes a line of his own for the second.

114

'Amphibological Congruity.' Here while one of the significa-
tions of the amphibological word is obviously intended, the
other, though clearly not meant, has some congruity with
the subject in hand, as in this distich of '^Ali HayderBey: —

'Proud of its rosebud, the branch of the rose
'Tosses, and flouts ruzgdr (i.e. Fortune; the wind).' '

Here the word ruzgdr is evidently used in its sense of
'fickle Fortune' or 'the world' in general, which the rose-
branch, proud of its loveliness, is said to look on with dis-
dain ; yet the other meaning of ruzgdr, namely * wind,' is
congruous when speaking of a twig tossing in the breeze.
Both forms of Amphibology are very often met with ; it is
of course hardly ever possible to suggest them in translation.
Tejahul-i "^Arif, literally, ' Feigned Ignorance :' this figure
consists in affecting ignorance of what one knows in order
to heighten the effect of one's statement, as in this opening
couplet from one of NefS"s qasidas: —

'Say, is this Adrianople-town or is it Eden-bower?
'Say, is yon the Royal Pavilion or a Paradisal tower?' 2

The poet knows perfectly well that the place he is praising
is Adrianople and not Paradise, but he affects doubt in
order to heighten the effect of his eulogy.

Irsal-i Mesel, literally, ' Proverbial Commission :' this con-
sists in quoting and applying a proverb in a single distich;
by its means the poet is able to enforce his statement by
the citation of some well-known adage. The practice of
quoting proverbs, which was always more or less popular,
was carried to great lengths by the poets of the Third and
Fourth Periods.

1 -.L-i ^_l._j^ 8,L_j-,»,, .•,_A_wLo * •,'..51, .Av *>Xa*«<»..^jlc \.^ ^L^i

115

Tlie figures comprised in the following group depend on
the position of the words or phrases in the verse.

Leff u Neshr, literally, 'Fold and Spread:' this consists
in naming two or more subjects and subsequently naming
their respective attributes, as in this couplet of Nedim: —

1 2

'They've distilled the rose's fragrance, broidered daintily its leaf;

1 -2

' One is made thy perspiration, one is made the towel for thee.' '

We have this figure in English, thus in Shakspere's 'Venus
and Adonis:' —

1 2

' An ovev that is stopped, or river stayed,

1 e

' Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage.'

Sometimes the order of the attributes is reversed, in which
case the figure is said to be 'Irregular.'

*^Aks or * Antistrophe:' this consists in the reciprocal con-
version of the same words in different clauses, as in this
couplet from Sheykh Ghalib's allegory 'Beauty and Love :' —

Etdi rukh-i husni nesteren-zdr
Kukhsdre-i ^ashq ve '^ashq-i rukhsdr

' The face of Love and the love of (his) face
' Made Beauty's cheek a bower of eglantine.' *

Here in the phrases rukJisdre-i ^ashq (face of love) and '^asJiq-i
rukJisdr' (love of face) the words are mutually reversed.

Tard u *^Aks or 'Epanodos:' this consists in forming the
second line of a distich from the reversed halves of the
first line, as in this couplet: —

1 2

Hengdm-i juwdni dir tahsil-i huner waqti,
■i 1

Tahsil-i huner waqti hengam-i juwdni dir.

LCw ^J^' J^-».^^j> ks-j^ ^^y~^ u^-^jj' L?j^

ii6

' The season of youth is the time to acquire knowledge,
' The time to acquire knowledge is the season of youth.' i

In the foregoing example the conversion is complete and
the figm-e is called 'Perfect;' when it is less complete, the
figure is 'Imperfect.' We have the figure in English, as in
this couplet of Milton : —

' O more exceeding love, or law more just ;
'Just law indeed, but more exceeding love.'

Redd-ul-'^Ajzi "^ale-s-Sadr or 'Epanadiplosis:' this consists
in repeating in the second hemistich of a couplet a word
or phrase that occurs in the first. It has several varieties
according to the position of the repeated word, its 'Perfect'
form being when the first word of the first line is made the
last word of the second.

Tade or ' Epanastrophe:' in this figure the last word of
one couplet is made the first of the next. When a poem
is formed upon this plan it is said to be Mu'^ad. '^

The figures in the next series depend on the form of words.

Tejni's or 'Homonymy' or 'Paronomasia:' this, which is
a variety of pun, is one of the greatest favourites among
the rhetorical figures, and is subdivided into a large number
of classes. It consists in the employment of words having
the same or similar forms and sounds.

The Jinas or 'Homonymy' is said to be 'Perfect' when

2 The best-known example in Turkish is the beautiful ghazel of Fuzuli
which begins: —

i^^^l^ liVjLa*^ Ljw.i;' i*j'^3'^ (Aj"'3 ^^,^*aA

' O Thou whose perfect Being is the Source of the secrets of wisdom !
'Those things whose Source is Thine Essence are the vehicles for the man-
ifestation of Thine Attributes.'

117

the homonymous words have exactly the same form and
sound, as in this couplet: —

Ider irdqa-i dcin hasretin-la cheshmanim;
Terahhum it, nije dcm dir esir-i hijran im.

'Through yearning for thee my eyes pour forth blood;

' Have pity ! how long a time am I the thrall of separation !' '

Here the Arabic word dem, 'blood,' and the Persian word

dem, 'time,' have exactly the same form and sound.

The Jinas is said to be Mefruq or 'Disjoined' when the

two terms are not written alike, as in this example: —

Rukhsariiii, ey dilber, dyineye benzetdim;

Veh ! veh ! ne khata etdim ! ayi neye benzetdim ?

'O fair one, I likened thy face to the mirror;

' Alack ! alack! what a mistake I have made ! to what have I likened the moon?' '

Here the word dyineye 'to the mirror' is matched by the

two words ayi neye 'the moon to what.' By 'the moon' the

face of the beauty is meant.

The Jinas is IMerfia or 'Repaired' when one of the terms

is completed only by adding to it a portion of another word,

as in this couplet by Safa Bey: —

Yoq-ken guneshiii eshi semdde
Bir esh gurinurdi shemxif vidde

' Though the sun has no mate in the sky,

' There appeared a mate to the sun in the water.' 3

Here to match the single word semdde 'in the sky' the
last syllable of shenise 'to the sun' has to be taken along
with the word aidde ' in the water.' The mate of the sun

*lXjJCj iuaJ ^jj -Aij' Ji2.i' »j r>^ w^

ii8

in the water is of course the reflection. This variety of
Honionymy has always been very popular, even from the
earliest times. The following English example will make
the principle quite clear: —

Wandering far, they went astray^

When fell on the hills the sun's \ast ray.

The Jinas is said to be Lahiq or 'Contiguous' when the

two words have the same letters except one letter in each

of the two ; this irregular letter may be initial, medial or

final. In this example it is the initial letter that is irregular:

Sebati yoq bu ^alemiii , ana kim i'^timad ider
Fcrah gelir, tcrah gider, terah gelir, fcraJi gider.

' Inconstant ever is the world, and he who doth thereon repose

'■Now gladly comes, now sadly goes, now sadly comes, now gladly goes.' *

The 'gladly' and 'sadly' of the translation, which represent
the ferali and terali of the original, suggest the Jinas.

The Jinas is Naqis or 'Defective' when one of the terms
has an extra letter, initial, medial or final. ^

The Jinas is Muharref or 'Altered' when the letters of

the terms are ail alike, but the vowel points differ, as in

the couplet: —

Shehrin ichinde shuhreti artar jemalinin
Evsaf-i vcrd-'x "^arizi vird-'i zeban olur.

'• The fame of her beauty increaseth in the city,

'The praise of her rose-cheek is the theme of (every) tongue.'^

Here the letters in the words vrd 'rose' and vrd 'theme'
are alike, it is only the vowel points (usually unmarked in
Eastern writings) that differ.

r^^ zl" ^^ zr^ ^^"^ zr' J^^^ zr^

2 As in the words q-*/- and ^>^:>' 5 LpJ' and L^VXJl ; ^b and \^^^i .
•■t .J5I qU 0,» yc.*^}^ '-^5 0L05' * ii^^JU> .ii",! Jr-J-ii »^JL>ol "^^^

119

The Jinas is said to be Khatti or 'Scriptory' when the
form of the two words is the same, but the dots differ. '

Qalb or 'Anagram:' this is reckoned among the varieties

of the Jinas. When the transposition of the letters is total,

as in the English words 'live' and 'evil,' the Anagram is

said to be 'Perfect.' This verse contains an example: —

Onine ebr-i siyahi chekerek,
Etdi pinhan kch-f-\ bedri felck.

' Drawing a dark cloud before it,

'The sky concea^3d the freckles (i.e. the spots) of the moon.' 2

When the transposition of the letters is only partial, the
Anagram is said to be Ba^^z or ' Partial.' ^

Qalb-i iNIustevi or 'Palindrome:' in this, which is an
extended anagram, a complete line, sometimes a complete
distich, is the same when read backward or forward. ■*

In the Jinas-i Muzdevij or 'Coupled Homonymy' part of

an antecedent word subsequently forms a whole word, as

in this couplet of Sami : —

Qachan kim nukte-senj olub achar ol mah-i gulfein fem
Rumuz-i ^ilm-ul-esmddan urmaz dakhi Adcm dem.

'When that rosy Moon opens her mouth in subtle sayings

' Adam no longer brags about the mysteries of the Science of Names.' '

' As in the words -»..i=^ww.J and .j>^\m^ .

' As in the words jU.J'i ihmdl and JL^' imhdl\ .l>1 « mddcr and .'lA-zO

meddr\ (<J^-?" j^"^ and ^er^'^^ ndji.

♦ In this couplet of Nazmi each line is palindromic: —

'Her blandishments are ruby (i.e. intoxicating like ruby wine), the pain
caused by her ruby (red lip) is anguish;

'It (her ruby lip) is hourl-likc, the cure for that soul (i.e. the lover's).'

r" r"^ ^-^^^ i-^;^' o-^U---^' ^i-

X ;* — «

;

The allusion in the second line is to the story in the Koran according to

I20

There is another variety of this figure in the following distich
of the same poet : —

Shi'^a-vesh akhir olur qameti dldmda lam
Chiqaran waz*^-! teberra ile diishndmda ndtn

' At last will the form of him become a him ' through woes who like the Shi'^a^
' Maketh his name by iutroducing denunciation in abuse.' ^

Mushakele : this figure consists in using a word twice con-
secutively, once in a natural, and once in a figurative sense.

Ishtiqaq or 'Paronymy:' this consists in bringing together
words derived from a common root, as in this couplet of
Fu^ad Pasha : —

Hukuttict kikmct ile mushterek dir,
Vezir olan hakim olmaq gerek dir.

'Authority and wisdom should go together;
'He who is vezir, he should be wise.' *

Here the words huktimet 'authority,' Jiikmet 'wisdom,' and
hakim 'wise,' are all derived from the Arabic root H KM.
Shibh-i Ishtiqaq or 'Quasi-Paronymy:' in this the words,
though apparently of common derivation, are in reality not
so, as in the line : —

Qalir-mi basira khdli khaydl-x /J'/;«/indan ?

' Will the eye bide void of the image of her mole ?' 5

Here the Arabic words kJidli 'void' and kliaydl 'image'

which God taught Adam the Names of all things, and then enquired them of
the angels, who, being unable to tell them, were bidden hear them from Adam
and then bow down in adoration before him. This they all did except Iblis
who, being puffed up with pride, refused to obey the Divine command,
whereupon he was driven from the presence of God, and became Satan.

1 i.e. become bent like the letter Idm J-

2 A Shi'^a is an adherent of the heretical sect that prevails in Persia, one oT
the customs of which is to denounce the first three Khalifas.

» QL\AJb> i3I.a:> (S^^'^ ^t*^^ ^7^

121

and the Persian word klidl 'mole,' though they resemble
one another, are all three quite distinct in origin.

The next group contains figures dependent on the letters
composing the words.

Hazf: this consists in using only words formed entirely of
undotted letters ; a poem composed of such words is said to be
Mahzuf Menqiit: this is the reverse of the preceding, and
consists in using only words formed entirely of dotted letters.
Raqta : this consists in arranging words so that the letters are
dotted and undotted alternately. Khayfa : this consists in using
alternately words composed wholly of dotted and wholly of
undotted letters. Muqatta*^: this consists in using words none of
the letters of which join. Muwassal: this consists in using words
all of the letters in which join. The late Ziya Pasha has two
Mahziifqasidas, both of which are printed in his great anthology
called the Kharabat or 'Tavern;' but I have not met any Turk-
ish examples of the other varieties though they are mentioned
in books on rhetoric and illustrated by trivial Persian verses.

A number of points connected with the manipulation and
arrangement of rhyme are likewise reckoned among the rhe-
torical figures. Of these the most important are: —

Irsad or 'Preparation:' this consists in hinting or suggest-
ing to the reader or hearer of a poem in monorhyme —
once he knows the rhyme-sound — what will be the rhyme-
word before he reaches the end of the distich, as in this
couplet from a ghazel of "^Asim Efendi the famous trans-
lator into Turkish of the great Arabic and Persian dictiona-
ries named respectively the Qamus and the Burhan-i Qati':

Nije bir khidmet-i makhliiq ile makhzul olalim? —
Sa'il-x Haqq olalim, na^il-i mcs'ul olalim.

' Wherefore should we be cast off serving the creature ? —

'Let us pray of God, let us attain our prayer!' '
1

jJaJjl ^>,X^A Job *J&J^' 05.:> y^"^ * (Ja-V J»^^>^" ^^} ^*^ sii^Ai* j3 K^

122

Here the reader having learned from the word makhzid in
the first Hne that the rhyme-sound is id (the olaliin is a
redif), is prepared on encountering the word sd'il at the
beginning of the second to meet its passive form mesid as
the rhyme-word.

Iltizam or 'Supererogation,' also called Luzum-i ma la Yelzem
or 'Making Necessary the Unnecessary,' and Tnat: this con-
sists in using a given letter or sound in addition to what
the rules of rhyme demand. One variety has been described
in the note on page 75.

Zu-1-Qafiyeteyn or 'Double-Rhyme:' here each rhyming

line of the poem has two distinct rhymes. When these are

contiguous the Double-Rhyme is said to be Mutaqarrin or

'Adjacent,' as in this couplet of Nabi: —
1 2

Efzuni-i haydt kcm-dzdrliqda dir,

1 3

Ser-maye-i iiejat sebiik-bdrHqda dir.

' Increase of life is in scantness of trouble ,

'The fund of salvation is in the lightness of (one's) load.' '

Here the rhyme-words kein-dzdrliqda and sebuk-bdrliqda (the
dir is a redif) are immediately preceded by the rhyming
words Jiaydt and nejdt.

When one or more words intervene between the two
rhyming words the Double-Rhyme is said to be Mahjub or

'Screened,' as in this couplet also by Nabi: —

1 2

'^Aleni esir-i dest-i ineshiyct digil-mi dir?

1 2

Adem zebiin-i penche-i qtidret digil-mi dir?

'Is not the world thrall in the hand of Will?

'Is not man powerless in the grasp of (the Divine) Might?' 2

Here several words intervene between the rhyme-words

diem — mesJiiyet and ddem — qudret.

123

Zii-l-Qawafi or 'Polyrhyme:' here each rhyming Hne of
the poem has more than two rhymes as in this couplet
again by Nabi: —

12 3

Pd-der-gil-i tcldsh tnaqalin-la khdmcler^

1 -^ 3

Pichide-i firash khaydlin-la tuimder

' Discoursing of Thee are the reed-pens stuck fast in the clay of agitation ;
*• Imagining Thee, do the treatises writhe on the bed.' '

Here there are three pairs of rhymes, teldsli and firdsh,
viaqdlin-la and khaydlin-la, kJiduieler and ndnieler. The Poly-
rhyme also can be 'Screened,' as well as 'Adjacent' as in
the foregoing example.

Tersi*^ literally 'Bejewelling:' this is a yet further elab-
oration of rhyme in which each word in the first hemistich
has a corresponding word of the same rhyme and measure
in the second, the only exceptions being parts of the verb
substantive and particles, which are repeated. Poetry thus
rhymed is said to be Murassa'^ or 'Bejewelled.' These lines
offer an example : —

12 3 4

Bi-khazdn qalsim behdr-i gulshcninl

13 3 4

Musta^dn alsun qardr-i dushmenin!

' Autumnless may the spring of thy garden remain !

' May He whose aid we pray bear off the peace of thy foe !' 2

The two lines that follow show how this trick would work

out in English: —

Thine be cheery gladness, yea, and dear delight!
Mine be weary sadness, aye, and drear despite!

There arc further a few miscellaneous figures, the most
noteworthy of which arc the following.

Bera''at-i Istihlal 'Eloquent Presagement :' this consists in
foreshadowing at the opening of a long poem, such as a

124

romantic mesnevi, the subject of the poem and the manner
of its treatment. This figure is very common in prose
works also.

Telmi"^: this consists in writing a poem partly in Turkish
and partly in Arabic or Persian, the lines or half-lines being
alternately in the one language and the other. Poetry com-
posed in this macaronic fashion is said to be Mulemma'^
or 'Pied.'

When poetry can be scanned in more than one metre
it is said to be Mutelevvin or ' Polychromatic'

Acrostic verse is called Muveshshah.

The foregoing list of figures, though very far from com-
plete, is sufficient for our purpose, and will moreover give
some idea of the extremely elaborate character of the Oriental
Art of Rhetoric. But now, so far as Turkey is concerned,
^^ this old Eastern art is a thing of the past. Its knell was
"^ sounded when in 1299 (188 1-2) Ekrem Bey published his
Ta'^lim-i Edebiyat or ' Lessons in Composition.' In that ad-
mirable work where for the first time the canons of Western
literary taste were systematically placed before the Turkish
student, the entire rhetorical system is revolutionised. The
old divisions of Ma^'ani, Beyan and Bedi'^ are abolished, and
nine tenths of the figures we have been considering are
swept away as incompatible with earnestness and sincerity
in modern times. But as up till then the old system held
undisputed sway, the attention we have bestowed on it is
justified.

CHAPTER IV.

Historical Outline.

It will be helpful, if before starting on our journey, we
trace an outline map of the road we are to follow; we shall
therefore, before beginning the story of Ottoman poetry,
sketch roughly and briefly the line of its development.

The history of strictly Ottoman poetry does not begin
till the middle of the fifteenth century. J^':.

During the preceding hundred and fifty years, which we
have called the First Period, a good deal of Turkish liter-
ature was produced in Asia Minor ; but only a very small
proportion of this was the work of strictly Ottoman writers.
Each of the several little states into which the Turkish pop-
ulation of Western Asia was divided still looked upon itself
as a distinct and separate power, and viewed its neighbours
with a jealous, if not a hostile, eye. It was the work of
Ottoman statecraft during this century and a half to bind
together these antagonistic members of a single family, and
through their union to re-create a Turkish empire in West-
ern Asia.

This embryonic period of the Ottoman Empire was like-
wise the embryonic period of Ottoman literature. During
this period the Western branch of the Turkish language was

126

gradually shaping itself to become a literary medium ; and
during this period was determined by a combination of cir-
cumstances which, as we have seen, were beyond the control
of the Turkish peoples the direction which their literature
was to take, and the lines along which it was to develop.
The age and the locality between them decreed that this
direction was to be that of the Persian masters, that these
lines were to be those of Persian poetry.

The primary result of this was the definite adoption as
a fundamental principle by the strictly Ottoman poetry that
followed of a practice which had held more or less from the
very start, the practice of looking for guidance to contem-
porary Persian poetry and following whatever movement might
develop therein.

The second result was the infection of Ottoman poetry
in its every aspect with a Persianism so potent and so in-
veterate that its effects are operative even to the present day.

Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din of Rum presided at the birth of
West-Turkish poetry, and during the First Period his was
the most powerful personal influence. The poets who wrote
under the immediate influence of this great teacher were too
deeply engrossed in their subject to spare much attention
to the merely literary aspect of their work, even had the
language not been in so rough-hewn a condition as to render
anything but the plainest and baldest style practically im-
possible. So although towards the close of the period, after
the invasion of Timur, when the influence of Nizami had
made itself felt, a certain interest began to be shown in the
more purely artistic side of poetry, the leading characteristic,
from a literary point of view, of the work of the First
Period is its naivete.

By the middle of the fifteenth century — that is, by the
time when through the Ottoman's having become paramount

127

in the land his dialect had been definitely accepted as the
court and literary language of the new West-Turkish Em-
pire, — the mystic atmosphere which in earlier years had
so closely enveloped Nearer Asia was in certain measure
passed away, and men were eager to make a start in some
fresh direction.

In Persia the purely mystic period had been left behind
for some time before the definite emergence of the Ottoman
dialect from amid the welter of local patois as the West-
Turkish literary medium, and literature in that country was
j» now in the hands of the lyric and romantic poets who
gathered round the court of Huseyn Bayqara, At the head of
the first of these groups stood "^Ali Shi'r-i Newa^i, the heir
and successor of Hafiz, a writer distinguished alike in poetry
and prose, and equal master of Persian and his native
Jaghatay or Eastern Turkish. The second group was under
the leadership of the famous poet Jami. The influence of
these two illustrious men of letters remained supreme in
Persia for nearly a hundred years, not being seriously affected
till '^Urfi and Feyzi introduced a new style and taste towards
the close of the sixteenth century.

All was therefore ready for the advent of Ottoman poetry;
the formative forces at work during the First Period had
fitted the West-Turkish language to serve as a literary me-
dium, had determined which of its dialects was to become
this medium, and had trained it to follow easily and without
effort the lead of its accepted guide. This guide had now
entered a region where the literary and aesthetic cravings
of the age were recognised and answered; so there was
nothing wanting but the man of destiny, the man who by
discovering, if not pursuing, the road for which all were
groping, who by stammering, if not by singing, the words
for which all were seeking, was to inaugurate the literature

128

of the Osmanic Empire and become the van-courier of the
host of Ottoman poets.
J^ The voice of the age cried aloud for a leader, and in
response arose Ahmed Pasha. So it is with Ahmed Pasha
that the history of Ottoman poetry proper begins. As with
Shinasi Efendi in later times, so with Ahmed Pasha now,
his real services were those of the pioneer, the intrinsic
value of his work being comparatively slight. Vaguely con-
scious of an ideal which he could not clearly conceive, let
alone express, Ahmed was stumbling along his way when,
lo, out of the East came light, the light for which he and
all his fellows were straining with eager gaze. When the
ghazels sent by Newa^i to Constantinople came into the
hands of Ahmed, his eyes were opened ; he saw before him
embodied in a form, fairer than which he could not picture,
these very moods and fantasies which he and his companions
had been vainly striving to express.

For a century and a half the movement thus begun flowed
on without let or break ; during this century and a half
the poetry of Newa'i, either directly or through that of his
Persian followers, was the main source of inspiration to the
Ottoman lyric writers, as the works of Jami and his imitators
were to the Ottoman romancists. Now the style of Newa^i
and Jami, which was really but the culmination of a literary
movement that had been in progress for three centuries in
^^^- Persia, was remarkable for its lavish use of rhetorical em-
bellishments of every description. This was the feature which
most attracted the Ottoman poets and which they most
strenuously endeavoured to reproduce in their own work.
r^ And so' during this Second Period the chief aim of the
Turkish poets was to decorate their verse with every im-
aginable variety of subtle and fantastic conceit, even at the
expense, if need be, of grace of diction and beauty of thought.

129

It was therefore with the opening of this Period that the
Ottoman Hterary idiom definitively broke away from the
spoken form of the language and began its development
upon entirely distinct and purely artificial lines.

This movement culminated in the work of the poet Baqi,
very shortly after whose death in. A. II. 1008 (A. D. 1600)
there occurred a modification in the method and purpose
of poetry so marked as to inaugurate a Third Period. About
the middle of the sixteenth century the style of Newa'i
and Jami had been superseded in Persian literature by that
elaborated by ^Urfi and Feyzi. The novelty in this style
lay, apart from the introduction of a number of fresh terms
r^ into the conventional vocabulary of poetry, in the deposition
of rhetoric from the chief seat and the enthronement of
loftiness of tone and stateliness of language in its stead.

This was reflected in Ottoman poetry, especially in the
writings of Nef^i whose work is the high-water mark of this
particular school. It was, moreover, during this Period that
the Persianisation of Ottoman poetry reached its extreme
point. Many native Turkish words and phrases which had
been preserved up to this time were now discarded and
their places filled by Persian or Perso-Arabic equivalents;
and while the poets had in the preceding Period frequently
alluded to purely Ottoman customs or institutions, even though
treating these in the Persian manner, it now became the
fashion altogether to ignore such and deal exclusively with
matters to be found in the pages of the Persian poets. To
such a pitch was this Persianisation of poetry carried that
there are many passages in the productions of this Period
which might have been cut out bodily from some Persian poem.

The Third Period lasted till the end of the seventeenth
century; but towards its close there appeared a poet, Nabf
by name, who by skilfully grafting on to the current style the

130

peculiar didactic tone of the contemporary Persian poet Sa'ib,
introduced a yet further modification into Ottoman poetry.

The Fourth Period, which covers the whole of the eigh-
teenth and the first half of the nineteenth century, is unlike
^ the Second and Third Periods in that it is an age of eclecticism ;
there is no longer a single school including practically all
the poets. The chief reason of this is that there was at that
time no contemporary Persian poet of sufficient merit or
eminence to command universal allegiance. The best that
Persia could then show was the poet Shevket who is deserv-
edly famous for his marvellous ingenuity and fertility in
the invention of fresh and picturesque images and similes.
For more than half a century this writer continued to be
the guiding star for the majority of Ottoman poets. The
work that these men produced was for the most part an
amalgam of the style of Nabi with that of Shevket; its
^_^ tone is didactic like that of the former, while it relies for
decoration on a new and quaint imagery modelled upon that
of the latter. These poets who looked to Shevket as their
master were the last followers of the old tradition which
taught the writers of Turkey to turn to contemporary Persia
for guidance ; and after their time Ottoman poetry ceases
to reflect that of the eastern kingdom.

All along — though more especially during the sixteenth
century — there had been sporadic outbursts of the national
spirit in Ottoman poetry; the Persian forms had indeed always
been respected, but from time to time the voice of the native
genius had striven to speak through these. The most notable
of such occasions was when the poet Sabit had at the end
''^ of the seventeenth century made the first determined effort
to stem the overwhelming flood of Persianism and convert
Turkish poetry into a somewhat truer interpreter of the
Turkish mind. From liis day, all through the first stage of

>3i

the Fourth Period, the movement to which he had j^nven
so groat an impulse continued to gather strength, till in
the latter half of the eighteenth century it became sufficiently

wT - powerful to be the dominant motive in Ottoman poetry for
some fifty years. This change marks the second of the three
stasfes of the Fourth Period. The movement which brought
this about had its origin in revolt, revolt against the tra-
ditional Persianism; but with success revolt very speedily
developed into license. There was nothing to guide or control
the new spirit thus suddenly advanced to a foremost place.
It knew not how to speak save in the terms of Persian
(^ poetry, so it spoke in these while it defied them ; it knew
not of what to speak save the themes of the Persianists, so
it spoke of these while it made light of them. The typical

^ poetry of this stage truly reflects the genius neither of Turkey
nor of Persia; what it displays is a struggle between the
two, a struggle which while it lasted entailed anarchy. Had
there been any guide to direct the national spirit, it must
have triumphed ; for it was full of vigour while Persianism
was decrepit; but the latter, though it had no living champion,
had behind it five centuries of culture, and thus it was able
by the sheer dead-weight of the past to stifle for the time
its rival's efforts at emancipation.

And so with the early years of the nineteenth century
there came a recrudescence of Persianism; but as there was
now no contemporary Persian master, not even a Shevket,
whom the poets could follow, for the next thirty or forty
years there was not properly speaking any school, each poet
choosing as guide or model whichever writer of former times
appealed most strongly to his individual taste. These years
of uncertainty form the third and last stage of the Fourth
^^J^^eriod ; and with them the history of the Old School of
Ottoman poetry comes to a close.

132

It is usual to disparage the Fourth Period, to speak of
it as an age of decline ; and so in many respects, especially
from the Persianist point of view, it unquestionably is. On
the other hand, as it includes the one sustained attempt to
dominate literary poetry made by the native genius without
any guidance from outside, it yields in interest to few epochs
in the history of this poetry.

At no time had Ottoman poetry appeared in so hopeless
a plight as during the last years of the Old School. Persia,
stricken with intellectual paralysis, was no longer able to
act as guide; the effort of the Turkish poets to supply from
within what had thus failed from without had ended in
disaster; and poetry seemed to have fallen into a Chinese
stagnation of lifeless conventionalism with neither wish nor
power save to mumble the dry bones of a long-dead culture.
Such was the position when at the end of the sixth decade
of the nineteenth century Shinasi Efendi bade the vivifying
spirit of the West breathe for the first time into the worn-
^^put frame of Ottoman poetry. By the production in 1859
of a little volume of translations from the French poets
into Turkish verse this author opened the eyes of his more
thoughtful countrymen to the fact that there was a litera-
ture worthy of study outside the realms of Islam, and in
this manner prepared the way for a revolution the results
of which have been beyond compare more momentous and
farther-reaching than those of any other movement by which
Ottoman poetry has been affected.

'^ The efforts of Shinasi Efendi to remodel literature after a
Western pattern were ably and successfully seconded by
his brilliant disciple Namiq Kemal Bey. But the work of
these two distinguished reformers was practically confined
to prose. No serious attempt was made to apply their prin-
ciples to poetry till the year 1296 (1879) when ''Abd-ul-Haqq

^55

Hamid Bey published his cpoch-makin<^- Sahra or 'The
Country.' ' This tiny booklet of but fifty-nine pages contains
ten poems composed in Western verse-forms and treating
their subject in a simple, natural, Western fashion, — the
first original Turkish poems written in this style. - The di-
rection suggested by this book was at once recognised by
the more talented among the younger poets as that in whicli
salvation must be sought, with the result that there now
began a steady flow of poetry written on the lines of the
Sahra, and consequently absolutely unlike anything which
had gone before. As a matter of course the new movement
was at first violently opposed by the adherents of the old
system. But the result of the struggle was never for a mo-
ment doubtful ; moribund Persianism might fret and fume
for a few years, but that it could offer any effectual resist-
ance to the strong fresh spirit that was inspiring with new
x^ life the intellectual world was inconceivable. It is now just
twenty years since the first note of the new poetry was
sounded, and within this brief period the whole aspect of
things has changed. Where there seemed to lie the apathy
of death there is now busy hopeful life ; torpor and stagna-
tion have given place to progress; for short as has yet been
its life, the New School has passed through more than one stage.
Although Turkish poetry owes this marvellous transfor-
mation to the influence of the West, the position of the
New School towards Western poetry is very different from
that of the Old School towards Persian. The aim of the

• Hamid Bey is at present (1899) Councillor to the Ottoman Embassy
in London.

2 Four years before this, in 1292 (1875), Hdmid Bey had indeed published
some incidental verses in the European style in a prose drama entitled Dukhter-i
Hindu or 'The Indian Maid.' These verses are actually the first original
Turkish poetry in the Western manner; but they seem to have been over-
looked by the public, as it was not till after the issue of the Sahrd that
Europeanised poetry came into vogue.

J34

old poets was to write what was practically Persian poetry,
and that as far as possible in Persian words. The object of

^:A the new poets has not been to write Western poetry, nor
yet to stud their verses with foreign terms; they have not
turned to the West to learn what to think, but to learn
how to think. They have studied the attitude of the Western
poet's mind as displayed in his work, and they have them-
selves endeavoured to assume a similar mental attitude. Thus
they have found that the Western poet seeks to describe
the things which he sees about him and to express his own
feelings in regard to these, so they likewise have tried to
describe things that have come under their own eyes and
to tell the emotions that these have awakened in their
own breasts. As a consequence Turkish poetry has become

^^^jrYor the first time natural and personal.

But this is not all ; by leading the Turk straight to nature,
to nature on which at the bidding of the Persian he turned his
back six hundred years ago, the West has unconsciously, but
none the less effectively, opened the way for a poetry which
^ is truly Turkish. A century before, when the genius of the
nation had grappled with and for a moment got the better of
its ancient taskmaster, it had failed to profit by its victory, for
it had not known what to make of it. But what was wanting
then is forthcoming now; a trusty guide has pointed out
the road ; the Turkish poet has learned at last that his true

..^ duty is to copy neither the Persian nor the Frank, but to
interpret the heart of the Turkish people ; and that to per-
form this duty aright, he must study, not the diwans or
the dramas of foreign writers, but the lights and shadows,
"7» the joys and sorrows, that make up the daily life of the
humble and simple among his own fellow-countrymen. '

' Early in the present year 13 16 (1899) a little volume of verses entitled
Turkje Shi'^rlar or 'Turkish I'oems,' was published by Mehemmed Emin Bey,

The change from the Old to the New School must have
come sooner or later; the Europeanisation of every depart-
ment of Turkish life which had been in progress for years
rendered it inevitable. But this does not alter the fact that
the man who directly brought about this great and beneficial
change is and must ever remain the central figure in the
history of Ottoman poetry. The work of Hamid Bey forms
the turning-point in this history ; everything composed
before he wrote bears in one form or another the mark of
Persia, everything worthy of the name of poetry composed
since he has written shows directly or indirectly the influence
of Europe. No man of our generation has, as far as I know,
so profoundly influenced the Hterary destinies of a nation
as has this illustrious poet and reformer. '

The extraordinary enthusiasm with which this change
was welcomed and the signal success with which, despite
manifold discouragements from ofticial quarters, it has
been crowned, show how willing is the Turkish people, for
all its innate loyalty to tradition, to accept beneficial reform
and how able to profit by it. In the wide and complex
question of reforming the institutions of the country, it is
probably in this one particular alone, namely the reform of
literature, that the Turkish people has had an absolutely
free hand. Here and here alone foreign intriguer and domestic
revolutionary have been unable to carry out their baleful
programme of thwarting every eflbrt at amelioration. Had
the Turks, when the opportunity was presented t(j them,
shown themselves unwilling or unable to carry out this vital

in which the first attempt is made to present in literary form the real speech
and feelings of the great body of the Turkish people. In these little poems,
put into the mouths of common soldiers and Anatolian peasants, the true
voice of the Turkish people speaks for the first time in literature.

> Hamid Bey followed up his Sahrd with a number of brilliant lyric and
dramatic works which I hope to describe in detail in a later volume.

136

reform in the one sphere which they wholly controlled,
where neither Russian emissary nor Armenian anarchist could
enter to blight the tender promise ere it could gather
strength, then would the judgment of their traducers have
been justified, and they would have proved themselves to
friend and foe alike a race whose vital energy was spent.
But since, on the contrary, nothwithstanding the alien source
whence it was derived, they have welcomed with open arms
this great, this revolutionary change in a province rendered
sacred by the continuous tradition of near six hundred years;
and have welcomed it, moreover, solely because they were
satisfied of its superiority, without a thought of the impres-
sion their action might produce upon the outside world
which is as ignorant of the progress of intellectual life in
Turkey as it is of what may be developing in Mercury or
Mars; and as they have applied it with such thoroughness
that there is as great a difference between the language and
spirit of a Turkish book of to-day and one of but fifty
years ago as there is between the poetry of Tennyson and
that of Chaucer, we are constrained to admit that the mental
energy of this people is unimpaired, and that those who
have so glibly doomed it as plunged in a lethargy from
which there is no awakening, as stricken with a paralysis
from which there is no recovery, have but shown once more
how worthless is the judgment that is based upon ignorance
and prejudice.

10-

BOOK II

THE FIRST PERIOD.
A. D. 1300 — A. D. 1450.

[There are no contemporary records for the First Period. The earliest
Tezkires or Dictionaries of the Poets ' date from the middle of the sixteenth
centur)', that of Sehi Bey, the oldest of all, 2 having been written only a
very few years before Latifi's, which was finished in 953 (1546-7). 3 'Ashiq
Chelebi's Tezkire was completed in 976 (1568-9),* Qinali-zade Hasan Chelebi's
in 994 (1586),* while that of Riydzi — the last to deal with the whole field
of Ottoman poetry — was compiled as late as 1018 (1609-10). « Tash-kop«i-
zdde's biographical work on eminent dervish sheykhs and members of the
■^ulema, which bears the title of Shaqayiq-un-Nu'^manfya or 'The Crimson
Peony,' was written in 965 (1558),'' and "Ali Efendi's general history called

1 A biographical dictionary of the poets is called Tezkiret-ush-Shu^ard or
'Dictionary of the Poets.' In these works the names of the poets are entered
in alphabetical order, and as a rule each entry contains, besides the biogra-
phical notice of the poet, a short criticism on his style, etc., and a few
examples of his work. There are several of these Tezkires in Turkish.

■•i Sehi's book has not been printed, nor, as far as I know, is there any MS.
in England. It would appear, however, to contain little or nothing that has
not been embodied in the later Tezkires.

3 Latifi's Tezkire was printed at the office of the Iqdam newspaper in
1314 (1898). There is a MS. in the British Museum (Add. 17,339), another
in the library of the Royal Asiatic Society, and another in my collection.
From the letter (ja this last offers a different (and apparently later) recension
of the text from that of either of the other two MSS. or of the printed edition.

♦ 'Ashiq's Tezkire has not yet been printed; there is a MS. in my collection.
The word Chelebi that follows his name is merely a title signifying 'Master.'

5 Qinali-zdde Hasan's Tezkire is likewise still unprinted; there are three
MSS. in the British Museum (Add. 24,957: Or, 35: Add. 19,622), one in
the library of the Royal Asiatic Society, and one in my collection. Most
European writers, following Von Hammer, speak of this biographer by his
family name Qinali-zdde; the Turks generally call him Hasan Chelebi; I
prefer to follow them.

* Riyazi's work also is unprinted; there is a MS. in my collection.

■• 'The Crimson Peony' was originally written in Arabic. There are several
Turkish translations. The best-known is that of Mejdi, which was made in
995 (1587); it is this version, which was printed in 1269 (1852-3), that
I have followed in the present work.

I40

Kunh-ul-Akhbar or 'The Essence of Histories' in 1007 (1598-9).' Beligh's
Guldeste-i Riyaz-i *^Irfan or ' Posy from the Bowers of Culture,' which contains
the lives of men of distinction connected with the city of Brusa, is more
modern still, having been finished in 1135 (1722). 2 All these books start from
the foundation of the Empire and carry the series of biographies down to
the time of compilation. They form the chief sources of our information con-
cerning the lives of the poets of the First Period, and in view of the re-
moteness of even the earliest among them from the times when these poets
lived, it is not unlikely that their stories concerning them are in great measure
traditional. For the rest, in most cases the more important works of these
early poets are in our hands, and so we are fairly equipped to deal with the
literary history of this far-off period, even if the figures among whom we
mpve be somewhat vague and shadowy.]

' Part of ^Ali's History has been printed ; the greater part of the unprinted
portion, that which deals with events between the capture of Constantinople
and the death of Suleyman I, is contained in two MSS. preserved in the British
Museum (Add. 10,004: Or. 32).

2 Beligh's work was printed at Brusa in 1302 (1884-5).

CHAPTER I.
The Early Mystics.

Mevlana Jelal- ud-Din. Sultan Veled. Yunus Imre.

'^Ashiq Pasha.

TJT^ Y^''^'" ^ i^^" Q^ ^^^ Christian era, that wherein the
Seljug^ Kingdom ceased to exist, may be regarded as the
birth-year of the Ottoman Empire. Nearly a century had
elapsed since Suleyman Shah had sought refuge in the west,
and during that time his son and grandson had done good
service to their Seljuq patrons as wardens of the Bithynian
marches against the officers of the Caesars. But neither Er-
Toghrul nor "Osman had ever sought independence for him-
self; they had been content to remain loyal vassals of the
suzerain power, which, on its part, had never failed to treat
them with honour and generosity; and it was only when
the Seljuq Empire was no more and ^Osman found himself
without a lord, that he arose and fought for his own hand.

Out of the chaos which resulted from the Mongol invasion
and the Seljuq downfall there emerged in Asia Minor the
ten little Turkish kingdoms already mentioned as constitu-
ting the West-Turkish Decarchy. The names of those little
states and of the ancient provinces to which they roughly
corresponded are: i. ^Osman (Phrygia Epictetus with a por-
tion of Bithynia wrested from the Greeks); 2. Qarasi (Mysia);

142

3- Kermiyan ' (Phrygia): 4. Hamid (Pisidia and Isauria) ; 5.
Tekke (Lycia and Pamphylia) ; 6. Saru-Khan ; 7. Aydin
(together Lydia) ; 8. Menteshe (Caria); 9. Qizil-Ahmedli ^
(Paphlagonia) ; 10. Qaraman (Lycaonia). ^

Thus at the outset the Ottoman is but one, and that the
least in extent, of a number of petty Turkish kingdoms
sprung up from the ruins of the Seljuq or old West-Turkish
Empire. But its rulers and people being the most enterpris-
ing and adventurous, it gradually gathered in the others,
until we find about a century and a half after the Seljuq
collapse that there is again but a single Turkish state in
Asia Minor, though the supreme power is now in the hands
of the Ottoman Sultan. This reconsolidation of the Turkish
power would have occurred earlier had not Timur's invasion
at the beginning of the fifteenth century thrown everything
into confusion and retarded matters for fifty years.

Now in the regions forming these little kingdoms several

Turkish dialects were spoken. These dialects were all varia-
tions of the Western branch of the Turkish tongue and did
not materially differ from one another, though each had
certain words and grammatical forms peculiar to itself. They
were one and all perfectly intelligible to every Western Turk;
there was therefore no reason why a poet in the days of
the Decarchy should write in any other than that of his
own province. And so we find that poets and other men
of letters, born outside the Ottoman borders, whether they
remained subject to their native prince or passed into the
Ottoman service, made exclusive use of the Turkish of their
own district.

' Several authorities write this name Germiyan.

2 Sometimes called Isfendyarli.

3 To the cast was a welter of Turkman hordes, from out of which there
emerged later on several local Turkish kingdoms, three of which maintained
their independence in face of the Ottomans for over a century.

This state of things lasted for about a century and a half;
and it was only when all the nine kingdoms had been finally
gathered in, and Constantinople won by the Ottoman Sultan
for the capital of the renovated West-Turkish Empire, that
the Ottoman dialect, modihed no doubt to a certain extent
by those of the neighbouring provinces, became the sole
recognised literary medium for the whole West-Turkish world.
Up till that time each poet made use of his own native
dialect; there was no single idiom accepted by all. Conse-
quently comparatively few of the works produced during /
this century and a half which we have called the First Period
are written in the true Ottoman dialect.

Nevertheless it would be wrong to pass over these in
silence as certain modern Ottoman writers do; because even
though they are written in old provincial dialects, they form
the foundation upon which the more strictly Ottoman lit-
erature that followed has been reared. It may perhaps be
said that such works cannot accurately be classed under
the head of Ottoman poetry, that West-Turkish poetry would
be a more correct designation ; and from a philological point
of view this would be true. All the same, these works are
practically Ottoman; the majority of them were written in
the Ottoman dominions for Ottoman patrons in dialects which
differ less from the Ottoman than those of the Endish
counties do from one another. Moreover, as they form the
basis of the subsequent Ottoman poetry, without some know- y
ledge of them we should be unable to trace satisfactorily
the gradual development of sentiment and style in that poetry.
We shall therefore take all the more prominent of these
early writers just as though they had been Ottomans in the
most restricted sense, and examine their works as fully as
the materials at our disposal will allow.

144

During the woeful years immediately preceding the birth
of the Ottoman power, when Western Asia was one vast
battle-field where hostile races and rival dynasties struggled
for existence or fought for pre-eminence, the Persian sun
was standing high in the heaven of poetry, and the Eastern
world was bright with the glory of that radiance the reflection
of which lingers to this day. Some century and a half before,
mysticism had triumphed over the more realistic spirit of
earlier times, and now claimed as its own the whole field

of contemporary Persian poetry. And in most quarters side
by side with mysticism, even at this early period^, reigned
artificiality. The grandiose but obscure and affected qasidas
-^ of Anvari ' and Zahir-ud-Din-i Faryabi ^ were looked upon
as the crowning glory of lyric poetry, for the ghazel had
not yet attained that predominant position which, thanks
chiefly to the genius of Hafiz, it was afterwards to hold.
Nizami'^ had brilliantly inaugurated the mystic-romantic poetry

1 Anvari, who died in 587 (1191-2), is considered by many to have carried
the Persian qasida to its highest point of perfection.

2 Zahir-ud-Din-i Faryabi died in 598 (i 201-2). His qasidas were held in
high esteem by his contemporaries, some of whom placed them before those
of Anvari. He is frequently mentioned by the early Turkish writers, always
in terms of respect and admiration.

3 Nizami of Genje was born in 535 (1140-1) and died in 598 (1201-2) or
599 (1202-3). His Khamsa or 'Quintet' contains these five mesnevis : Makhzen-
ul-Esrar or 'The Treasury of Secrets,' 'Khusrev and Shirin,' ' Leyli and
Mejniin,' Heft-Peyker or 'The Seven Effigies,' and the Iskender-Name or
'Book of Alexander.' 'The Treasury of Secrets' is a didactic-mystic work
in which the author discusses a number of questions bearing on conduct, each
of which he elucidates by the addition of some appropriate anecdote. Works
of this description became very popular both in Persia and Turkey. The
' Khusrev and Shirin ' and the ' Leyli and Mejnun ' are romances on famous
love-stories. 'The Seven Effigies' is a romance on the adventures of King
Behram-i Cnir and his lady-loves. 'The Book of Alexander' consists of two
parts, of which the first is sometimes called the Sheref-Name or 'Book of
Glory ' or the Iqbal-Name or ' Book of Fortune,' and the second the Khired-
Name or 'Book of Wisdom;' it deals with the romantic history of Alexander
the Great. As these books were afterwards reproduced in Turkish, we shall
examine their subjects more closely farther on.

of the East ; and in his famous Khamsa, the work, or rather
series of works, destined to arouse to emulation so many
both in his own and other lands, were displayed — nowhere
more clearly — the two chief tendencies of the age. For the
Khamsa was written at the very time when the qasi'da was
being stifled under every species of decoration, and it reflects
in many antl many a far-fetched metaphor and recondit^
allusion that passion for the artificial and ostentatious which
had now established its tyranny over Persian poetry. Again,
Nizami was the first romantic poet after the universal triumph
of mysticism, and thus his stories arc no longer, as in for-
mer times, romances pure and simple, but are all more or
less allegoric in intention and mystic in spirit.

But mightier than either lyric or romancist w a^ lu' under
\vJTose shqdow^both were fain to smg. The_ mystjc £oet, the
master who elected verse as the channel for his transcen-
dental teaching, was lord-paramount wherever Persian culture
held ; and nowhere was his power more absolute or his in-
fluence more profound than in this very Asia Minor. For
_here..iii Qoaya, the Seljiiq capital, had been established for
over fifty years the head-quarters of a group of saintly
mystics who by the power of their writings and the spell
of their personality have exercised an incalculable influence
upon the subsequent literature and philosophy of the Muslim
East. Hither, while yet a youth, had the greatest of them
all, the Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din, ' been brought by his father
Beha-ud-Din Veled ; here had he lived and taught ; here had
he seen those visions and worked those signs which Eflaki ^

' Mevldnd (in Arabic, 'Our Lord') is a title prefixed to the names of
great dervish sheykhs and eminent members of the "^ulemd.

2 Eflaki, who was a disciple of Jelal's grandson Chelebi Emir ^Arif, wrote
at the request of his teacher a biographical work on the early Mcvlevi fathers,
which he called Mendqib-ul-'^Arifi'n or 'The Acts of the Adepts.' A number
of translated extracts from this work, which was completed in 754 (1353),

146

has collected for us with such lovhig care ; and above all
here had he written his marvellous Mesnevi. ' This great
poem, one of the greatest and most noble in all Persian
literature, which in clear, simple language, but without ap-
parent order or method, discourses on the doctrines and
aspects of the mystic philosophy, has for ages formed the
text-book of the Siifi thinker from the shores of the Med-
iterranean to the Wall of China. Scarcely less important
has been the influence of the impassioned Di'wan where in
inspired strains the poet-saint sings of the mystic Love, and
immortalises his dear master Shems-ud-Din of Tebriz. -^ Here
too in Qonya had the Mevlana founded that famous dervish-
order, ^ called after him the Mevlevi, which in later years
became so powerful, and which centuries afterwards gave
to Turkey one of her greatest poets. *

Unlike the contemporary lyric and romantic poets, Jelal
and the other mystic teachers, both in Qonya and elsewhere,
wrote in a simple and straightforward style, eschewing the
tricks and artifices wherewith the court poets bedecked their
works. These men were too much in earnest to play with
words; moreover, they were less artists in language, or even

are prefixed to Sir J. W. Redhouse's translation of the First Book of the Mesnevi
(Triibner, 1881).

' The full title of this famous book is Mesnevf-i Ma'^nevi or 'The Spiritual
Couplets;' but it is usually styled simply The Mesnevi, as being the Mesnevi
among all mesnevis.

2 A selection of ghazels from Jelal's Diwdn along with translations and
valuable critical notes has been published by Mr. R. A. Nicholson under the
title of 'Selected Poems from the Divani Shamsi Tabriz' (Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1898.)

3 The so-called 'dancing dervishes' are members of this order. The mystic
dance which certain among them perform every week was instituted by Jelal
himself who describes it in more than one poem in his Diwan, where he
represents it as symbolic of the universal life with its movements multiplex
yet one.

* Sheykh Ghalib.

147

poets sini^ing because they must, than masters who chose
to teach in verse rather than in prose, the former being
more in harmony with the spirit of the time and better
suited to the matter they had to say.

The influence then of Jehil-ud-Din and the mystics held
the first place in the age and in the country wherein Turkish
poetry was destined to start upon its course, while that of the
lyric and romantic writers occupied the second. The eftects
of this are immediately evident; the earliest Turkish poetry
consists of long mystic or theological mesnevis written in a
plain and simple fashion with little attempt at embellishment
or literary grace of any^ kind. Later on, when the immediate
personal influence of the master and his band has somewhat
faded, a change occurs; lyric and romantic poetry, and with
them artificiality, begin to be cultivated with the greater
assiduity, while mysticism as a formal subject of poetry
falls into the second place, though remaining as the foundation
and background of the whole.

It is just after the close of the fourteenth century that
this change becomes clearly evident. The disastrous invasion
of Timur, which occurred at the very beginning of the fifteenth
century, cuts the First Period into two divisions, the poetry
produced during the first of these being not only the more
single-minded in purpose and the more artless and naive
in expression, but also far the more Turkish in its manner
and diction. Whether it be, as seems more probable, the
natural result of a century of culture, or whether it be in
any degree owing, as the historian ^IWi would infer, to the
influence of the Persian scholars who came into Asia Minor
in Timur's train, the West-Turkish poetry written about the
time of the Tartar onslaught becomes somewhat suddenly
much more Persian and much more artificial. The simple
homely language of the earlier poets with their old-fashioned

148

'finger-counting,' suggestive of the ancient folk-songs and
ballads, gives place to high-sounding foreign words and to
the laboured rules of Persian prosody. Ingenious allegories
begin to supersede the earnest if somewhat tedious homilies
of the early followers of Jelal, and tricks of language and
curiosities of imagery gradually replace the old straight-
forward speech.

Although he lived full half a century in a Turkish city,
and for that same reason is known throughout the East by
the surname of Rumi ' — a term which practically means
the (Western-) Turk — Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din, for all his
splendid literary ability, did virtually nothing towards the
great work of founding Turkish literature. His Mesnevi-i
Ma"^nevi contains between 25,000 and 30,000 couplets, but
there is never a Turkish line among them; there are in his
vast Di'wan 1,000,000 distichs, yet there is not one single
ghazel written wholly in the Turkish tongue. Some time
ago a scholarly member of the Mevlevi order, Veled Chelebi
by name, made a careful examination of the master's works
for the express purpose of discovering to what extent he
had made use of the Turkish language ; and the only reward
of this labour of love was one complete ghazel of the de-
scription known as Mulemma'^ written in mingled Turkish and
Persian, together with three Persian ghazels each of which

1 Rdm is an Oriental form of Rome. The names ^Greece' and 'Greek'
are unknown : Viindn represents Ionia. So powerfully did the Roman conquest
of Greece and Asia Minor affect the Asiatic mind that to the Orientals not
only all the subsequent, but all the former movers in these lands have ever
since been '■ Romans.' Thus Alexander the Great is known throughout the
East as Iskender-i Riimi 'Alexander the Roman;' while all the later dwellers
in these regions, Byzantines, Seljilqs and Ottomans, have likewise been indis-
criminately called Riimis, that is 'Romans;' and their emperor, Christian or
Muslim, is the Qaysar-i RUm or 'Caesar of Rome.' And so the Ottoman Em-
pire is, and has always been, styled the 'Roman Empire,' or simply 'Rome,'
by Persians, Tartars, Afghans and Indians; an Ottoman Turk is called by
these a ' Roman,' and the Ottoman language, the ' Roman language.' The
name Rum is thus virtually a geographical term and represents the territories
ruled in succession by Roman, Byzantine, Seljiiq and Ottoman; and it is in
this sense that it is used in Persian and literary Turkish. The name Mevlana
Jelal-ud-Din-i Riimi therefore means elymologically ' Our Lord Jelal-udrDi'n
the Roman (or, of Rome),' but practically, 'Our Lord Jeldl-ud-Din the Seljiiq
Turk (or, of Seljiiq Turkey).'

I50

contains a few Turkish distichs, and one or two other gha-
zels with a single Turkish couplet apiece. '

Jelal-ud-Din was born in Balkh in Central Asia in 604
(1207-8), and died in Qonya in 672 (1273-4), so those few
lines are our earliest specimens of West-Turkish verse.

Veled Chelebi quotes as examples the two following frag-
ments. The passages which in the original are in Persian
are italicised in the translation.

Fragment of a Ghazel. [i]

Or good or ill the brother be, indeed he

Upon a long and toilsome road will lead thee. 2

The shepherd clutch thou fast, the wolves are many ;
O my black lamb, O my black lambkin, heed me ! 3

And be thou Turk, or be thou Greek, or Persian,
TIic tojigtie of those the iongjieless leani^ I rede thee!*

Fragment of a Ghazel. [2]

Thou k/iozv^st how out of all folk I love thee and thee only;
If to my breast thou come not^ for grief shall I die lonely.

/ fain one day were seated alone beside thee, dearest.

Then would I learn me Turkish 5 and quaff the wine full pronely.

1 See an article entitled Edebiyat-i Islamiya or ' Muslim Literature ' by
Mehemmed Veled Chelebi in the special number of the journals Terjuman-i
Haqiqat and Servet-i P'unun published in aid of the destitute Muhammedans
ol Crete in 1313 (1897).

2 The office of him who is to be thy brother on the mystic journey is
arduous and vital, so it behoves thee to choose him with the utmost care.

3 Quzum ' my lamb ' is a common form of familiar address among all classes
in Turkey ; but '■ my black lamb,' if used at all now, must be provincial.

* 'The tongueless,' i. e. those who are wrapt in silent contemplation of the
Divinity, who have reached that stage where speech is not only inadequate
but is misleading.

5 i. e. 'I would learn thy language so as to entertain thee.' So at least
Veled Chelebi explains the words: —

The Turkish cause owes more to Jelal-ud-Din's son Sultan
Veled. This son, whose full name was Sultan Veled Beha-
ud-Din Ahmed, was born in the Seljuq city of Larende, *
in 623 (1226), when his father was only nineteen years of
age. His youth was spent in the service of some of the
ereatest Sufi teachers of the time, such as Burhan-ud-Din
of Tirmiz, Shems-ud-Din of Tebriz and Salah-ud-Din Feridun
of Qonya, the last-mentioned of whom gave him his daughter
Fatima in marriage. In his Lives of the Sufi Saints, entitled
Nefahat-ul-Uns or 'The Breaths of Intimacy,"'^ Jami, the great
Persian poet, tells us that when Sultan Veled grew up, he
became so like his father that those who did not know them
used to take the two for brothers. Jelal-ud-Di'n, who died
in 672 (1273-4), was, according to Eflaki, succeeded by
Sheykh Husam-ud-Din, who had till then acted as his vicar.
On the death of this person in 683 (1284), the generalship
of the order passed to Sultan Veled, ^ who continued to
expound his father's teachings in what the biographers de-
scribe as clear and graceful language till he died, at the age

' Larende is the old name of the town Qaraman ; it is still used in official
documents.

2 The 'Intimacy' alluded to in this title is that between God and the mystic.

3 The generalship of the Mevlevi order is still in the family of Mevlana
Jelal-ud-Din. The General bears the special title of Chelebi Efendi. The head-
quarters of the order are and ever have been at Qonya. The mausoleum of
Jelal in that city is a beautiful building surmounted by a dome which is
covered with blue tiles. The mausoleum is consequently famous throughout
the Muslim world as the Qubbe-i Khazra or ' Green Dome.' As we shall have
frequent occasion to remark, the Easterns do not regard blue and green as
distinct colours, but merely as different shades or tints of one colour.

152

of eighty-six, on the loth. Rejeb, 712 (iith. November, 1312).

Amongst other works in Persian verse wherein he com-
ments and discourses upon his father's teaching, Sultan Veled
left a mesnevi poem bearing the name of Rebab-Name or
'The Book of the Rebeck.' In the hundredth section of
the first part of this Book of the Rebeck there is a series
of one hundred and fifty-six couplets in the Seljuq dialect
of Turkish, — the earliest important specimen of West-Turkish
poetry that we possess. Through the presence of these Turkish
verses this otherwise undistinguished book acquires a great
and unique interest, for here, enshrined in its pages, it holds
the first serious utterance of the new^ literature.

The composition of the book which thus curiously, and
as it were by accident, comes to be the starting-point of
West-Turkish poetry, synchronises almost exactly with the
birth of the Ottoman state. It was written within the space
of four months in the year 700 (1301). The poem, the pur-
pose of which is purely mystic, owes its name to a panegyric
on the musical instrument called the Rebab or 'Rebeck'
with which it opens, much as the Mesnevi of Jelal-ud-Din
begins with the eulogy of the Reed-Flute. What induced
the author to break through all precedent, write a series of
verses in the Turkish language, and incorporate these in a
Persian mesnevi, we cannot say. But Sultan Veled seems
to have had a fancy for versifying in various tongues, as
Professor Vambery discovered in this same Rebab-Name a
series of twenty-two couplets in the Greek language though
written in Persian characters. ' This is yet more extraor-
dinary; Turkish, though not then a literary language, was
at least the speech of a Muhammedan people, while Greek

' Professoi- Vdmbeiy announced his discovery of these Greek verses in a
letter to the Athenaeum of January 7th, 1888. Veled Chelebi says that
Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din also has some verses in Greek.

153

was the tongue of a nation outside the Muslim pale. But
Sultan Veled was a Sufi, not a Muslim of the orthodox
type ; and to the Sufi all religions are more or less good,
as all are roads leading to The Truth, though some may
be shorter or more direct than others; and so considerations
which would at once have determined a member of the
^'ulema might have had little enough weight with him.

The Rebab-Name is written in the same metre as Jelal-
ud-Din's Mesnevi and in this metre — of course one of the
regular Persian varieties — are the Turkish couplets; but
in these the feet are generally, though not invariably, syllabic
according to the true Turkish fashion. In a few cases they
are quantitative ; and thus we see here, in the very first piece
of Western Turkish verse, the beginning of that struggle
between the native and the Persian systems of prosody which
characterises the earlier part of the First Period. The voca-
bulary too is very Turkish, containing but few Arabic or
Persian words, far fewer than we meet with in even slightly
later works. Many of the Turkish words employed are now
obsolete; some probably never existed in the Ottoman dialect,
others perhaps still linger on in some provincial patois.
Looked at merely with regard to the language, these verses
are of great interest, as in them we have a specimen of the
Turkish of Western Asia at the time when the Ottoman
Empire was being founded.

Sultan Veled is one of those men whom I have described
as being less a poet than a mystic teacher who taught through
verse. There is therefore in these Turkish couplets no attempt
at literary grace of any kind. They are written in correct
enough metre in the Turkish fashion, and the lines rhyme
with sufficient accuracy, and that is all. There is an entire
absence of anything that is merely decorative, nor is there
any slightest hint of that torrent of fantastic similes and

154

remote allusions which is by and by to overwhelm this
poetry. The writer does not trouble himself even to avoid
repetition; he uses the same words and phrases over and
over again, without thinking or caring to vary them. The
poverty of the language may perhaps go for something here ;
but the true cause is the earnestness of the teacher. His
great object is to say what he has to say in the clearest
and directest way he can. And here he is certainly successful;
for once the merely external difliculty of his old-fashioned
dialect is overcome, his style is singularly easy.

In one place Sultan Veled speaks as though his acquaint-
ance with the Turkish language were limited ; he says : —

'■ Knew I Turkish, unto you I should make known
' All the secrets that the Lord to me hath shown.'

Here he can mean only that he did not write Turkish verse
with the same facility as Persian; for his work is before us
to prove that he possessed an excellent knowledge of the
Turkish language, as indeed it would be strange had he not,
seeing that he passed all his life in a Turkish country.

The theme of Veled's Turkish verses is of course the
mystic philosophy. Even in this comparatively short passage
of one hundred and fifty-six couplets we can see very clearly
that truly Oriental discursiveness so characteristic not alone
of the writer and his illustrious father, but of almost every
poet of the mystic school. The author takes up a point,
makes a few observations on it, and then passes to some
fresh subject, to return ere long to the first, which is again
abandoned and taken up without any perceptible line of
thought being followed. Instead of presenting an orderly
sequence of ideas leading up to some point which he desires
to establish, the poet seems to put down whatever thought
comes into his mind without considering its due relation to
the context.

155

Thus Sultan Veled's Turkish couplets open with a few
lines in praise of Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din, after which the writer
proceeds to declare the superiority of his teaching over
worldly riches; he then bids the reader implore God to
show him the truth and to efface his individual existence
even as the drop is lost in the sea. After a little the praise
of the Mevlana is resumed, and we are told that the gifts
of God to His saints differ in each case, but that none is
equal to that vouchsafed to Jelal. We have next a list of
the gifts bestowed on the Prophets of old ; after which we
are told not to regard God as other than His saints. We
are then bidden resign our soul to God by whom we shall
be repaid an hundred-fold. As when we are dreaming, the
soul leaves the body and creates of itself a world, so shall
it be when we die; but we must be careful to preserve our
faith, which the soul will take along with it and which will
form as it were its passport to Paradise. The poet touches
next on the blessed state of the saint whose soul is alive
through Love; we are enjoined to find out such an one and
hold fast by him. Then we are told that if we would see
the soul, we must look for it with soul as our eye; for every
form of perceptible existence has an eye proper to perceive
it, and this we must use, on the same principle as that only
like can pair with like. After a further expatiation on the
virtues of the man of God, we have the curious passage in
which Sultan Veled says that if he knew Turkish he would
impart all his knowledge to his readers, whom, he adds, he
loves like a father, and for whose love he prays. He then
bids us hold fast by him, as if we do not, where are we
to go? We are again warned not to conceive of the saint
as other than God, for he who sees one as two is squint-
eyed. This identity of God with the saint who has found
Him is dwelt on at some length and is buttressed by a

156

story, borrowed from the Mesnevi, in which God, when
speaking to Moses, identifies Himself with a holy man who
has been ill, and in the clearest language declares Himself
and His saints to be one. The reader is then called upon
to renounce the world and be of those who have won to
Truth ; for such are in Paradise even while on earth, in
the night do these see the sun, and in the darkness do they
see the light; in the demon do they find the houri, and in
blasphemy do they find true faith; they have died to them-
selves and are become one with God ; like the drop they
have fallen into the sea; but we must not call them drops,
we must call them the Sea ; and we must cleave fast to them
and let all else go by.

If Sultan Veled really was the first — and we know of
none before him • — to seriously attempt literary poetry
in the Western Turkish language, his success is marvellous.
That his verses are little poetical is nothing to the point.
It was no mean achievement to fashion from the rough
dialect of camp and market-place a medium for the teaching
of a spiritual philosophy. To do this, moreover, almost ex-
clusively from native elements, with such little assistance
from the more cultivated languages he knew so well, proves
the poet to have been as resourceful as he was daring. Won-
derful is the way in which the homely Turkish words fall
so easily into their places in the smooth and even lines,
just as though they had been long accustomed to such exercise,
and no raw recruits drawn from city-street or country-side.
And so well do they look standing marshalled there, that
wc cannot help regretting so many among them must ere
long pass away to give place to substitutes levied from the
Persians or the Arabs.

To Sultan Veled then belongs not only the honour due
to the pioneer in every good work, but the credit which

157

is justly his who successfully accomplishes an arduous enter-
prise. To have inaugurated the poetry of a nation is an
achievement of which any man might be proud.

The passages here translated from Sultan Veled's Turkish
verses have been chosen as being representative of the series. '

From the Rebab-Name. [3J

Wot ye well Mevldna 2 is of saints the Pole; ^
Whatsoever thing he sayeth, do in whole.
All his words are mercies from the Heavenly King;
Such that blind folks' eyes were opened, did they sing.
Whosoever by this Word doth tread the Way,* —
God vouchsafe to me the meed for him, I pray.
Mine are neither flocks nor riches to bestow,
That the love of Him through riches I should show.
These * the riches which the Lord hath granted me ;
Whoso longeth for such riches, wise is he!

• The attention of Western scholars was first drawn to the Turkish verses
in the Rebab-Name by Von Hammer who published the text and a German
translation in 1829, in the 48th. vol. of the Jahrbiicher der Literatur. Prof.
Moriz Wickerhauser published a revised text (transliterated) and translation
in the 20th. vol. of the Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesell-
schaft; while Dr. Behrnauer and Prof. Fleischer contributed some interesting
and valuable notes on this revision to the 23rd. vol. of the same journal.
In 1891 M. C. Salemann published, under the title of 'Noch Einmal die
Seldschukischen Verse,' the text of the whole of the hundredth section, with
a Gennan translation, and, in an appendix, the Greek verses. The MS. from
which M. Salemann printed this edition belongs to the Asiatic Museum of
St. Petersburgh,- and differs in some points from that preserved at Vienna,
which contains the text used by the earlier editors.

2 Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din, the poet's father.

3 The Pole or Centre round which others revolve, or to which others are
drawn. ' The Pole of Saints ' is an honorific title, applied sometimes to others
besides Jelal-ud-Di'n.

■* ' The Way ' or ' the Path,' i. e. the mystic teaching that leads to absorption
in God.

* i. e. these Words that point the Way of Life.

158

Words, ' they form the riches of the man who 's wise ;
All his riches giveth he, these Words he buys.
Riches, they are dust; these Words are life for aye;
Therefore flee the wise from those, in these to stay.
Words abide enduring, wealth departing flies ;
Seize the living thing and leave thou that which dies!

Hold by God, that so thou mayst abide for aye ;
Beg thou aidance of the Lord both night and day.
Praying, say to Him a-weeping dolefully :
'Through Thy grace divine do Thou have ruth on me;
' That I see Thee clearly, ope mine eyen wide ;
' That I drop-like fall midmost the sea, and bide.
'■ P2'en as when the drop into the sea doth run,
' Two they rest not, drop and sea become but one.
' So would I, e'en as that drop, become the sea ;
'■ Die not, but e'en like the sea, alive would be !'

Mazed and wildered at these words the wise abide : —
'How then hath the creature the Creator spied?' ^
' No man sees that Face,' ^ 'tis thus I answer these,
' It is his own self reflected that he sees.
' God the Lord doth give to him of His own Light,
'By that Light doth he the Lord God clearly sight.'*
So far may the letters hold the Verities;

1 By ' Words ' here and elsewhere in this and similar poems we must un-
derstand the idea or thought which is behind the uttered word and of which
this is the expression; thought and word must be i-egarded as inseparable,
as but two aspects of the same intellectual act ; exactly as in the case of the
Greek Logos, from which indeed the conception originally came.

2 This line is the question of the 'wise' enquirers.

3 The Face of God.

* In the text published by M. Salemann there here follow five couplets
omitted in the Vienna MS. These are to the effect that if Light be in a
man's eye, he doth see Light, and the Light of the sun cometh to him;
for Light is one thing, and must not be regarded as two. So if Soul be in
a man, he shall see Soul. Whatsoever is from thee is not from Him, though
such things (i. e. as come from thee) be many in the world. Wisdom is ne-
cessary that one may see Wisdom: how should the fool, who hath no Wisdom,
see it? Know this that thy (rational) wisdom cannot know Him, even as
the soulless cannot see the soul. The central idea here is that like only can
apprehend like, that in order to really understand anything, one must become

159

By these Words it is that soar aloft the wise, '

Understanding how 'tis God that seeth God,

How it is the Light of God that seeketh God!
«»•»»«* s •» * ■»

Leave thy wisdom, on this Path a madman be! 2
He who gives his soul, an hundred souls wins he.
Since the soul 's from God, to Him the soul restore;
He shall give thee many and many a soul therefor.
Sow the soul where it an hundred-fold shall bear; 3
He who sows not there his soul shall evil fare.
See, thy soul, when thou 'rt asleep, where doth it flee?
See too what it worketh there * withouten thee.
From thy body, 'when thou sleep'st, the soul doth fleet
Bird-like, wheresoe'er it list, doth drink, doth eat;
Of itself a soul will myriad forms assume,
City, market-place, or shop will it become;
Of itself it will become the earth, the skies:
Wakeful is the soul, while there the body lies.
Know that thus will be thy soul when comes thy death. 5
When thou yieldest up thy soul heed well thy faith, «

identified with it; and so to know God, one must be merged in God, become
conscious of the Godhead in one's soul. The same idea occurs farther on in
the poem.

' i. e. so far (but no farther) may the Verities be expressed by language ;
yet this account will point the wise the way to the higher Truths.

2 The mystic, rapt and beside himself at the vision of Eternal Beauty,
glories in describing himself as 'mad.'

3 The figure here was probably suggested by this passage from the Koran,
ii, 263 : ' The likeness of those who expend their wealth in the way of God
is as the likeness of a grain that groweth to seven ears, in every ear an
hundred grains, for God will double unto whom He pleaseth ; for God en-
compasseth and knoweth.'

* In dream-land.

* Compare Koran, xxxix, 43: 'God taketh souls at the moment of their
death: and those that die not (He taketh) in their sleep; He restraineth those
on whom He hath decreed death, and He sendeth back the others till their
appointed term; — verily, in that are signs to a people who reflect.'

6 The moment of death was considered peculiarly critical, the idea being
that Satan appeared to the man just about to die and ofl"ered him a cup of
water on condition of his recognising him as a God. SaMi alludes to this

i6o

That the soul may bear this ' with it up to God,
And may walk with houris bright in Heaven's abode.

Happy yonder soul whose very soul is Love,
And whose service on this Path is naught but Truth !
Dead the loveless soul must needs be held, I say ;
Needs must find one who a Lover '- is straightway,
That he make the soul in thee alive through Love;
Ay, that through his radiance flee this darkness off;
That he make thee, e'en as he is, true and leal;
That he pardon through his mercy all thine ill.
Seek thou eager in the world for such an one,
Hold him fast and sure, and let all else be gone.
Such as hold him fast and sure, earth's Lords are they, —
Nay, it is through them that earth alive doth stay. 3
Earth is as the body, as its soul such are.

Look within the body, where 's the soul? say, where?

All may see the body, none the soul may see ;

Never asks the wise of how the soul may be.

Viewless is the soul, that eyes should see its face;

'Tis not body, that it stand in yonder place.

Leave this eye, * with Insight then the soul regard,

Even as thine understanding sees each word. ^

Different eyes for every different thing there be;

Yea, thou hast an hundred eyes, and all do see.

Thus the ear is e'en the eye for speech, and well

Can the ear becoming speech from graceless tell.

near the end of the Bustan, where in a prayer, which he puts into the mouth
of a devotee, he implores God : —

'■ In that vortex of the last breath
'Do Thou save me from the shame of saying Two!'
i. e. from confessing that there are two Gods.

1 i. e. thy faith in the Unity.

2 i. e. a mystic, one who is in love with the Divine Beauty. The 'Lover'
is the mystic's favourite name for himself.

3 i. e. it is by means of such holy ones that the spiritual life is preserved
in the world.

* i. e. the bodily eye which is adapted to perceive material objects alone.
5 Understanding is the eye adapted to see the thought lying behind words.

i6i

In ihe body is the mouth for taste the eye,
'Twixen sweet and bitter well can it descry.
Look on every thing then with the eye •therefor,
That thou mayest see, nor fall afar forlore.
One must look upon the soul with soul for eyes.
Seekest soul? — then from the body must thou rise.
Glory seek'st? — turn Glory then for Glory's sake!
Ilouri seek'st? — turn Houri then for llouri's sake!
Well thou knowest horse doth ne'er with camel pair;
As the evil-worker hath not good for share. '
» * « » s- » * « «

Knew I Turkish, unto you I should make known
All the secrets that the Lord to me hath shown;
With my words I'd make you know whale'er I know,
.\11 that I have found I'd make you find. 1 trow.
Fain would I that all the folk this thing might see,
Yea, that all the poor should rich become through me;
That to all I might make known the things I know,
That both great and small might find my finding too !

« * » « * •» •:•:- » » »

Seek thou God from him who doth His message bear;
Deem not such 2 is other than The Truth, ^ beware!
Hold thou fast by him who hath found God alway;
Neither when thou'st found him cry, 'Where 's God? I pray!'
Other is not God than he, ope thou thine eyes;
He it is who aye thy light to thee supplies. *
Whoso seeth one as two is squint of eye ; *
Hearken not his speech, it is but trumpery.
Brother, whoso loves God from his heart, 'lis he

' This and the two foregoing couplets teach that man must identify him-
self with what he seeks; so if he seek the soul, he must eliminate the earthly
and become all soul: a conception to which, as we have observed, the poet
has already alluded.

* i.e. the messenger.

3 The Truth, i. e. God.

* I here follow Salemann who conjecturally regards the obscure word jj.jl
as a corruption of the Persian 15 . taken in the sense of 'light,' rather than
Fleischer who takes it to mean ' daily bread.'

' It was commonly believed that squint-eyed people see double. *

l62

Who will understand these Words e'en as they be.
Heaven and earth before his sight are one alone, —
All through God, without, within. One Secret shown !
One the speech, e'en though his words a myriad be;
From his speeches will an Eye come finally. '
All that is will die, the soul alone will bide;
In yon world the Slave '^ and Sultan, " naught beside :
One are Slave and Sultan there, they are not tway ;
In that Palace Prince and Slave are One for aye !

God to Moses said, * ' I have been sick indeed;
'Is it thus tliat one his loving friend should heed?'
'Great and small have come to see me, how I fare;
'How is it to ask of me thou camest ne'er?'
Moses said, 'Afar from Thee may sickness be!
' The Creator Thou, whence sickness then to Thee ?'
' I've been sick, thou hast not come,' said God again,
' No account of what I told thee hast thou ta'en.'
Moses said, ' I may not read this mystery ;
' What Thou meanest by this secret know not I.'
God made answer, 'Sick a saint of Mine hath been;
' There on earth My mad one suffered sickness' teen.
'How is it thou ne'er hast gone to see him there?
' Never asked his plight, nor said, " How dost thou fare ?"
' For his sickness 'tis that T am sick e'en now.
' That I'm other than My saint. Oh, deem not thou !
' Whoso seeth him, he hath seen Me likewise ;
'Whoso asks for him hath asked for Me likewise.
'See thou Me in him, and him in Me thou'lt see;
' Ask of Me from him, and ask of him from Me !'

' However much and often the Lover speak, his real subject is always
the same ; and from his speeches there is at last developed an inward eye
capable of perceiving The Truth.

2 The Slave, i. e. the human soul.

3 The Sultan, i. e. God.

* This legend, which occurs in the Ninth Story of the Second Book of
the Mesnevi offers a striking parallel to Matthew, xxv, 36-40.

' Does one show his regard for a friend by neglecting him when he is ill?

i63

There arc, according to Veled Chelebi, nine (apparently
complete) ghazels besides several couplets in Turkish in
Sultan Veled's Diwan which is about half the size of that
of his father. The Chelebi quotes these two fragments as
examples.

Fragment of a Ghazel. [4]

To-night a Radiance sheen hath filled thy dwelling, *
That thereinto the moonbeams bright are welling.

No more will darkness bide therein, for this Moon
Is through Its radizUce darkness quite expelling.

And whether gone the thief or whether still there,
Will when the house is light be easy telling.

Fragment of a Ghazel. [5]

Come, for God's sake, come unto me that thou mayest God conceive !
Give up the world e'en this very day that thou mayest God receive!

What were thy head ? give thou it up along with thy flocks on this Path !
Open thine eyes then, headless soul ! that thou mayest God perceive ! ^

Soar up to Heaven aloft, O my soul, if thou indeed be mine;
Open thy hand, give up thy wealth, that thou mayest God achieve !

' We may take the Radiance to be God, the dwelling to be the poet's
heart, and the thief mentioned in the third couplet to be his ego or selfhood.

2 By 'head' selfhood is meant; so in the language of the mystics ' head-
lessness' means self-annihilation, absorption into the Divine. Jelal-ud-Din says
in one of his ghazels: —

' Draw in thy head, O comrade, for this is not the season of speech ;
'In the headlessness of Love why raisest thou thy head? Do it not.'
And Hafiz : —

'A wondrous path is the Path of Love, for there
' He who uplifteth his head is he who is headless.'

During those wild years when the Princes of the Decarchy
were carving their ITttle~1crngdoms out of the shattered empire
of the SelJLiq there Hved in Anatoha a holy man, Yunus
Imre by name, who, though said to have been quite un-
learned and scarce able to read, appears to be the first
recorded native poet of the Western Turks.

'^Ashiq Chelebi, whose Tezkire or Dictionary of the Poets
is one of the most interesting and valuable works of its
class, alone among the biographers of poets mentions Yiinus;
but Tash-kopri-zade, the author of the Crimson Peony, has
a few remarks concerning him which reappear among the
notices of contemporary learned and pious men that the
historians SaM-ud-Din ' and ^Ali subjoin to their accounts
of the several Sultans' reigns. AH we learn from these sources
is that Yiinus was a native of the district of Boli in what
is now the vilayet or province of Qastamuni, but at the
close of the thirteenth century formed part of the petty
kingdom of Qizil-Ahmedli, and that he was a disciple of a
teacher called Tapduq Imre. In the Crimson Peony and in
■^Ali's History we read that for long he acted - — after the
ancient fashion of the East ■ — - as servant to his master, and
that never once among the faggots which he used to gather
and bring to the hermit's cell was there a crooked stick,

' Sa'^d-ud-Din Efendi was born in Constantinople in 943 (1536-7) and
died there in 1008 (i 599-1600). His history of the first nine Ottoman Sul-
tans, called Taj-ut-Tewan'kh or ' The Crown of Chronicles,' is very famous
and is reckoned an admirable example of the Turkish prose of its period.
It is popularly called Khoja Tan'khi or 'The Khoja's History,' the author
having been khoja or preceptor to Sultan Murad HI.

i65

which circumstance, "^Ali adds, attracted the attention of
his teacher who one day said to him, ' Is there never a crooked
stick on the hills where thou cuttest wood ?' whereupon the
disciple replied, 'Things crooked profit not in either world
that I should bring such to your threshold,' an answer which,
we are told, called down on him the master's blessing. These
are the only biographical items recorded concerning Yiinus;
but Tash-kopri-zade and his two followers devote each a
brief notice to his teacher Tapduq Imre. From these we
learn that this saintly personage settled in a hamlet near
the river Saqariya where he lived in seclusion, though, fol-
lowing the 'noble custom of the holy,' he imparted instruc-
tion to a band of disciples. '

None of these biographers gives any date in connection
with either master or pupil ; but Tash-kopri-zade, and there-
fore Sa'^d-ud-Din and '^Ali, — though without mentioning any
authority for so doing — place them among the sheykhs of
Sultan Yildirim Bayezid's time (A. H. 792 — 805. A. U. 1390 —
1403). But as Veled Chelebi points out in the article already
quoted, there occurs in one of Yunus's own poems the fol-
lowing passage which shows him to have flourished nearly
a century earlier: —

'■ And seven hundred and seven was the date

'When Viinus laid down his life (i.e. devoted himself) in this Path.' 2

The Muhammedan year 707 begins on the 3rd. of July 1307
and ends on the 20th. of June 1308.

For^^he rest, the biographer^ in v rely say that Yiinus was
unlettered, that his talent vvas the direct gift of God. Thus.

' '^Ali adds that Tapduq Imre was a friend of the celebrated saint Hajji
Bektash; but many of his stories concerning these holy men of old are so
obviously legendary that little reliance can be placed on his statement.

* (^-^j' i^^^. jy^. c5^r> i_5^-^ r^y-^

^Aj' ■^J>ji sAijj _^ jc-^'^ U^-l*--

1 66

'^Ashiq writes that Yunus was Jof the number of those per-
fect ones who are pulled by the hook of the Divine Attrac-
tion from the World of the Kingdom to the World of the
Angelry/ ' and that 'for all he was illiterate, he was of them
who read in the college of the Divine, of them who turn
the pages of the book: "We have been given knowledge for
an inheritance from the Living who dieth not!"'-' that he
was 'of the saintly and just who translate the language of
the lip into the language of the heart, and of those Com-
panions of the Secret who with the Voice of the Unseen
World 3 declare what is in the soul.' The biographer adds
that Yiinus could hardly read, that, as he puts it in his figu-
rative way, 'the mirror of his heart was undulled by the
turbidity of the lines and curves.' *

Referring to his work, the Crimson Peony says, 'from the
words he uttered in the ballad ^ style in the Turkish tongue
containing subtle points and allusions and excellencies, it is
clear and manifest that he had a perfect knowledge of the
Divine mysteries and held an exalted station in the Percep-
tion of the Unity.' ^ "^Ali has nothing about illiteracy, but

' i. e. from the physical to the spiritual plane, see pp. 55-6.

2 0^*j ^ (^J^il (_tf.:S^il ^-jA |Jl*i! Ui^^l ^:<^i

3 Lisan-ul-Ghayb, lit. ' the Tongue of the Unseen World,' such as that
wherewith spoke the prophets and saints when under inspiration. Hafiz is
sometimes called ' the Voice from the Unseen,' because it was usual to draw
auguries by opening his Diwan at hazard and judging from the first passage
that caught the eye. This species of divination was once common in Europe,
where the Bible and the woi'ks of Virgil were generally used.

■^ The 'lines and curves,' i.e. the letters of the alphabet.

5 The original word is Warsaghi, which is the name of a kind of ballad (pre-
sumably) invented by, or learned from, the Warsaqs, a nomadic Turkish tribe
scattered in the Qaraman district. The word is however used also by the
Eastern Turks.

8 '■Jlm-i Tevhid ' the Knowledge or Perception of the Unity,' i. e. that aspect
of mysticism which discloses to the saint the ultimate Oneness of all existing
things.

167

says that Yunus made in tlic Turkish language endless pleas-
ant verses hinting at the mysteries.

The poetry of Yiinus Imre, as we have it in the litho-
graphed edition of his \ygrks, ' consists of something over
six hundred couplets in niesnevi verse and a diwan of between
three and four hundred ghazels. All this verse is written in
the Turkish metres, which is doubtless what Tash-kopri-
zade means when he speaks of Yunus's words being in the
'ballad style.* In most of the ghazels there is present, in
greater or less measure, the favourite Turkish arrangement
of ^a thrice-repeated internal sub-rhyme, an arrangement which,
as has been said before, works out into practical identity
with what in more literary poetry is known as musemmat
verse. ^

Although the poems as they appear in the lithographed
Diwan can hardly be in every respect quite what they w^ere
in their original form, such changes as they may have suffered
during the centuries would not appear to be very vital. The
rudeness inevitably attaching to a first endeavour and the
ultra-Turkish character which distinguishes them are evident
in every line. The rhymes, both final and internal, are often
extremely defective, frequently merely assonant, it being
sometimes only the vowel-sounds that agree, sometimes only
the final consonants. There is of course no conscious attempt
at any artificial graces; the Art of Rhetoric did not exist
for Yunus. The language, though naturally abounding in
long-obsolete words and forms, is considerably more Otto-
man than that of the Rebab-Name verses. This may probably
be in some measure owing to the 'corrections' of successive
copyists, but it is no doubt chiefly attributable to the fact
that the author was a northern Turk.

' Lithographed in 1302 (1884-5).
2 See p. 72.

1 68

In matter the poems are exclusively transcendental^JYunus
was a thorough-going mystic ; nothing outside the Sufi
philosophy seems to have had the slightest interest for him.
There is no more single-minded poet in all Turkish literature.
But while he touches more or less on nearly every side of the
system, what appears to have impressed him most profoundly
is the stupendous conception of the ultimate Unity of all
things. Thus he loves to tell how he was with the Beloved
in the beginning, how he was Moses beholding the Divine
Epiphany on Mount Sinai, how he was Abraham and like-
wise the ram he sacrificed in his son's stead, how he was
Joseph and likewise the one who purchased him, ' how he
was MansLir and likewise his executioners ; ^ he further iden-
tifies himself with brutes and even inanimate objects, de-
claring that he is the snake in its dust-hole, the cloud
wandering over the sky, the rain that descends upon the
earth ; and in more than one place he openly proclaims
that he is God ' who createth man from seed and who bringeth
the bird from the egg.' Yunus's pantheism is thus frank and
!»^outsp_gken; it does not, like that of so many later poets,
conceal itself behind a veil of allegory. This old singer says
what he means in the most downright fashion.
r C -~J^ Yiinus's verse is rugged beyond that of any other Turk-
— -"^ ish poet ; this is in part owing to the fact that he alone
used exclusively the uncultivated Turkish metres; Sultan
Veled, as we have already seen, and Yiinus's contemporaries
and immediate successors, as we shall shortly see, although
they did not systematically adopt the Persian quantitative
scansion, wrote in one of the established Persian metres,
and thus a certain air of culture is at once given to their work.
Though the direction be unusual, we clearly see in the work

1 That is Zelikhd, Potiphar's wife, of whom we shall hear much.

2 For Mansur, see p. 2i, n. 2.

169

of tlii-s poet the influence of the master spirit of the age,
Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din. F"or unhke most of the early Turkish
poets, Yunud_is a lyric writer, and so he finds his inspiration
less in the Mesnevj than in the Diwan of the great mystic.
The joints of contact between master and disciple are many.
All the philosophy of Yunus will be found in the Diwrin of Jelal,
notably the former's favourite doctrine of the ultimate Unity,
which appears there in quite the manner in which he after-
wards proclaimed it. ' There is also some resemblance in out-
ward form; Yvinus is hardly more partial to the internal sub-
rhyme than is Jelal 'nimself; but imitation is less likely here,
as this arrangement is at least as much Turkish as it is Persian.

Yet Yiinus had practically no model ; though inspired
by Jelal, he did not, like the early mesnevi-writers, copy
the Persian masters, and there was no lyric poetry in Western
Turkish. There was nothing but some rude folk-songs and
popular ballads; and it was in the way of these that Yunus
fashioned his verse. He may indeed have seen or heard the
Diwan-i Hikmet of Khoja Ahmed-i Yesevi, which has much
in common with his own both in manner and matter; but
this is in Eastern, not Western, Turkish.

We have seen that the biographers say that Yunus could
barely read, we have also seen that these same biographers
knew very little about Yunus. The mere fact that his verses
are in the native and not the Persian metres is itself enough
to stamp him a barbarian in the eyes of these literary man-
■dajrias.; it was enough to make Latifi and Hasan Chelebi
exclude him altogether from their Memoirs. Of course it is
impossible to decide whether the statement of '^Ashiq and
the others is correct, but there is abundant evidence in the
Diwan to show that Yiinus was not only perfectly familiar

1 See the ghazel printed on pp. 331-2 of Mr. Nicholson's Selections from
the Dlwani Shamsi Tabriz.

I/O

with the philosophy of Jelal-ud-Din, but was thoroughly
acquainted with the theological lore of his time. All that
we can say is that his verse, remarkable in any case, is
doubly wonderful if it be the work of a man so illiterate.
Here are two of Yunus's pantheistic ghazels.

Ghazel. [6]

Faith, idol, Ka'^ba-fane ' am I; who smites the sphere a-spin 2 am I;
The cloud upon the heavens' face, likewise the rains that rain am I.

The thunderbolt that flasheth forth, that, flashing, weaves itself in birth;
The poison-snake that deep in earth to creep and cower is fain am I.

The one who Hamza ^ drew o'er Qaf, * who swelled his hands and feet

therewith ;
Who many from their thrones drave off, the King of Wisdom's Rayne am I.

The cloud that doth to heaven ascend, the rain that doth to earth descend.
The haze and mist that doth before the sightless eyes remain am I.

Who buildeth bone and flesh and skin, who keepeth this a living thing,
Who lieth Wisdom's crib within and Power's milk doth drain am I.

Who summer brings and earth doth cheer, who makes our heart-house His

repair ; 5
Who doth consent to dam and sire, ^ who knoweth Serfhood's gain am I.

1 The Ka^ba or ' Cubical House ' at Mekka is the centre of the Muhammedan
world. Towards it the Faithful turn when they worship, and to visit it
they go on pilgrimage from every land. Here Yiinus takes it to typify Islam,
the 'idol' standing for the (conventionally) false religions; he would identify
himself with every form of religion, non-Muhammedan as well as Muhammedan.

2 i. e. He who makes the spheres revolve.

3 This line refers to an incident in the legendary history of Hamza the
uncle of the Prophet.

* For the mountain-chains of Qaf see p. 38.

t50^ 5 O,

5 Probably an allusion to the well-known Hadis *.U^ o^t^^ ^^yt-J) wa.A.2

'the heart of the believer is the house of God.'

" i. e. He who while thus universal condescends to individual, physical birth.

Full many an one have I made thrall, I've lived a merry life wiihal;
What coalless burns, ' what leaps when hammer-blows on iron rain 2 am I.

Let him come here who suffers woe that 1 to him a place may show;
My heart his home, mine eye his town; Time in the Cycle-train' am 1.

It is not Yiinus sayeth this, 'tis Power's Tongue that speaketh thus;
Who credits not a paynim is, the First and Latest e'en am L

Ghazel. [7]

That Mighty One of 'Be! and 'tis,'* that Lord of gracious sway am I.
That King who ere 'tis cut provides for each his bread each day am I. ^

The One who maketh man of seed, who maketh bird from egg proceed,
Who makes the Tongue of Power to speak, He who remembereth aye am I. ^

Who maketh some ascetics be, and some to work iniquity;

That Argument and Proof who veils their faults and flaws alway am L

Who unto one doth horses give, doth wives and wealth and children give.
The while another lacks a groat, — that One of gracious sway am I.

' In allusion to this famous passage of the Koran, xxiv, 35: 'God is the
light of the heavens and the earth; His light is as a niche in which is a
lamp, and the lamp is in a glass, the glass is as though it were a glittering
star; it is lit from a blessed tree, an olive neither of the east nor of the
west, the oil of , which would well-nigh give light though no fire touched
it, — light upon light! — God guideth to His light whom He pleaseth, and
God striketh out parables for men, and God all things doth know.'

* i. e. Fire (Ndr), this is contrasted with ' what coalless burns,' i. e. Light
(Niir). Light (Nur) and Fire (Nar) are often taken to symbolise respectively
the Beautiful (Jemal) and the Awful (Jelal) Attributes of God. See p. 66, n. 2.

•'• The circling Time that brings healing on its wings.

■♦ In the Koran, ii, in, we read, 'And when He decreeth a matter. He
doth but say unto it 'Be!' and it is.' This phrase, 'Be! and it is,' expressing
the Divine command and its instantaneous eflfect, summarises the creative
power of God, and is repealed again and again in the Koran. It finds a
parallel in the Biblical text, 'He spake; and it was done.'' (Psalms, xxxiii,
9.) where 'done' is printed in italics, as not being in the original Hebrew.

6 He who while the grain is yet growing assigns to each creature its daily
portion.

8 An allusion to Koran, ii, 147, where God says, 'Remember me, and I
will remember you ; thank me, and be not ungrateful.'

1/2

Who biingeth snow and doth earth freeze, who on each brute his food bestows,
Who worketh all these businesses, the Soul of souls in fay am I.

1 am Eternity in sooth, that King, the Unconditioned Truth;
To-morrow Khizr ' may water dole, who wipes his sins away am I.

Know ye what from Four Things proceed, behold, I am the Sign indeed ;
That God who builded Fire and Air and Earth and Water, yea, am I.

Who holds the veils of flesh and skin and bone and life and body e'en;
My works are Power and many an one, the Hid and Open aye am I.

The Outer and the Inner I, the Former and the Latter I;
Yea, I am He, and He is I, He whom they praise alway am I.

No truchman may between Us be, all wroughten there is clear to me;
Who giveth me this tongue is He; yon Sea that rolls each way am 1.

He who did earth and sky create, who maketh Throne and Stool rotate; 2
Thousand and one His Names : ^ Vilnus, He of the Koran, * yea, am I.

' This Khizr is a very vague personage, but one whom we are continually
encountering in Oriental poetry. He is mentioned in the Koran, and is be-
lieved to have been one of the ancient Prophets, being confused by some
with Elias and St. George, both of whom are called Khizr-Ilyas. It is generally
in connection with the Stream of Life, of which he is often represented as
the guardian, that he is mentioned by the poets. Having drunk of that Living
Water, he is, of course, immortal, and it is said that sometimes, under the
form of an aged man, he appears to pious Muslims in distress and helps them
out of their troubles, but disappears as soon as his identity is suspected. In
the Alexander-legend Khizr, as we shall see by and by, is represented as
an officer in the army which accompanies the great conqueror on his quest
of the Fountain of Life, and is the only man in all the host to find and
drink of the wondrous Stream. The name Khizr is Arabic, and is etymolo-
gically connected with the idea of greenness, the connection perhaps being
through evergreen to immortal.

Yiinus in the present passage means to say that to him the Water of Life
which Khizr might offer is as nothing, that indeed it is he (Yitnus) who for-
gives that holy one (Khizr) his sins.

2 'Throne and Stool,' in the original, 'Arsh and Kursi (see p. 35); as these
are spoken of as rotating, the poet may possibly mean them to be taken
here as the Ninth and Eighth Spheres (see p. 68).

' It is said by some that the 'Names' of God are one thousand and one.
* 'He of the Koran,' i.e. the Author of the Koran, i.e. God,

173

The next ghazel seems to be an invitation to some friend
to follow the mystic life.

Ghazel. [8]

Come and let us two be comrades, come and let us seek the Loved One; *
Come and let us two be helpmates, come and let us seek the Loved One.

Come and guide me on our faring; to the Friend 2 be our repairing;
Cast aside all dule and caring, come and let us seek the Loved One.

Let us quit the world together, cheated not, for it doth wither;
Let us two be parted never, come and let us seek the Loved One.

Soothly is the world unstable; ope thine eye, thy soul is sleeping;
Unto us be fere and comrade, come and let us seek the Loved One.

Ere the clutch of Fate impel us, ere the voice of Death do hail us.
Ere that ^Azrd^'l ' assail us, come and let us seek the Loved One.

Let us see the loyal lover * tidings of The Truth to gather,

Let us find the lover Vunus, come and let us seek the Loved One.

In the following passage in mesnevi verse Yiinus boldly
attacks certain points in the conception of God prevalent
among the more ignorant or fanatical of the orthodox.

Mesnevi. [9]

O my God, if so be Thou should question me,
Lo then, this would be mine answer unto Thee : —

'Gainst myself I've sinned and mine own hurt have sought;
But to Thee, O King, what have I done or wrought?
Ere I came Thou didst decree me frail to be ; '

> 'The Loved One,' i.e. God.

« ' The Friend,' i. e. God.

3 '^Azra'il is the name of the Angel of Death.

♦ The ' lover ' is of course the mystic.

* Even as we read in the Koran, iv, 32, ' For man was created weak.'

1/4

Ere my biith Thou saidst : ' A rebel he 'gainst me !'
Even as Thou wouldest, so with me Thou'st done 5
Whatsoe'er I've wrought, 'tis Thou hast wrought alone.
When I oped mine eyes a prison met my view,
Crammed with fiends and devils, and with lust a-stevv. '
Saying, ' Lest within this jail I hungered die,'
Times have been when clean "- and unclean eat have I.
Was it I who schemed me? — nay. Thou didst me scheme;
Why createdst me so faultful. Lord Supreme?
Was there aught a-lacking to Thy Sovranty?
Or had word of mine a part in Thy decree ?
Did I leave Thee hungry, eating up Thy dole?
Or did I on sudden make Thee want to thole ?

Thou dost make a Bridge like to a hair ^ and say :
' Cross, and save thee from thy doom decreed, straightway !'
How should man cross o'er a bridge like to a hair?
Or he slippeth or he falleth headlong there.
When Thy servants build a bridge it is for good;
This the good, that folk may safely cross the flood.
So 'tis needful it be strong and spacious too,
That the crossers say : ' Lo, here the roadway true !'

Thou hast set a Balance * evil deeds to weigh ;

' The devil-cranmied prison may perhaps be the world, perhaps the human
heart.

2 'Musmul' the word in the original, is a corruption of ' bismil ' which is
applied to the flesh of animals slaughtered for food according to the require-
ments of the Law. In this line the poet confesses that he has at times
transgressed the Law, but insinuates that he has done so under the compulsion
of circumstances beyond his control.

3 This refers to the Bridge Sirat ' finer than a hair and sharper than a
sword ' which according to common belief — though there is no mention of
it in the Koran — spans the gulf of hell, and over which, it is said, all
must pass after the Last Judgment, the wicked to fall into the abyss. This
fable, the allegorical origin of which is obvious, is common to the Jewish
and Magian traditions, whence doubtless it found its way into popular Islam.

* This again alludes to the allegorical Balance (also taken literally by the
vulgar) in which God will on the Judgment Day weigh the good and evil
deeds of men. It is referred to in several passages of the Koran, such as the
following (vii, 7-8) : ' And the balance on that Day is Truth ; and whosesoever
scales are heavy, they are the prosperous ; and whosesoever scales are light,

175

Hast designed to cast me in the fire straightway.

Scales are meet for him who may a grocer be,

May a goldsmith, merchantman, or spicer be.

ThouVt omniscient, so Thou know'st mine every way;

Where Thy need then all my actions thus to weigh?

Since that sin uncleanest is of things unclean,

In itself the very work of evil men,

Why shouldst Thou search out and weigh that filthiness?

This were seemly, that Thou veil it with Thy grace.

Thus Thou sayest: 'Mid the fire I will thee fling

'If I see that heavy comes thine ill-doing.'

In Thy hand is ill's decrease and weal's increase,

In Thy hand is weal's decrease and ill's increase.

Look Thou on then at Thine ease and I shall bum!

(Far be this from Thee, O Lord for whom men yearn !) '

Is Thy vengeance sated? — Thou hast made mc die.
Turned me into dust, with earth hast stopped my eye !
For a handful dust 2 is all this much ado
Needful, O Thou gracious Lord of Glory truer

Now from Vunus there hath sprung no evil deed;
And Thou knowest all that is, revealed and hid.

they are those who lose themselves.' Here, as when speaking of the Bridge,
the poet satirizes the idea of God punishing man whom He created so frail.

' By this line the poet would show that it is not the way of God (whom
he loves) that he is assailing, but only a false and degrading conception
thereof.

2 i. e. a mortal man.

Another very early mystic poet is a certain "^Ali, who is,
however, always spoken of as ^Ashiq Pasha, the name ^Ashiq,
which signifies 'Lover,' being a surname given to or assumed
by him on account of his mystic fervour, while the title
Pasha is in his case a mere honorific. In a preface in Persian
prose prefixed to many manuscripts of his work, this poet
tells us something of his own genealogy; he there describes
himself as '^Ali, the son of el-Mukhlis, the son of Sheykh
Ilyas; he whose grandfather was commonly known as Baba
(i. e. Father), and who himself is commonly known as Sheykh
Pasha el-'^Ashiq.

This grandfather, Baba Ilyas as he is generally called,
receives a brief notice in Tash-kopri-zade's Crimson Peony,
where it is stated that he dwelt in Amasiya and that, as
he was a worker of miracles, he had a large number of
disciples; but that the Seljuq Sultan Ghiyas-ud-Din the son
of "^Ala-ud-Din, ' fearing a dervish revolt, ordered a general
massacre of the Siifis, and that Baba Ilyas soon after this
fell into the hands of the Sultan's troops, and was killed
and his succession cut off. In a marginal note to the printed
edition of the Peony, Baba Ilyas is further described as el-
Khurasani (i. e. the Khurasan man), and it is added that on
the irruption of Jengi'z - he came (presumably from Khurasan)

' The Seljuq Sultan, Ghiyas-ud-Din II, succeeded to the throne in 634
(1236-7). The Mongols under Hulagu invaded Western Asia in 641 (1243).
Ghiyas was defeated and surrendered in 643 (1245-6), whereupon he was
deposed from the Sultanate. He was put to death in 657 (1259). Ghiyas-ud-
Din II was the last Seljuq Sultan to wield any real power.

2 Jengiz began his career of foreign conquest early in the thirteenth cen-
tury; it continued unchecked until his death in 624 (1227).

^77

into Rum, and there settled in the neighbourhood of Aniasiya.

The story of Baba Ilyas as given by Von Hammer ' differs
considerably from the account in the Crimson Peony. The
Austrian historian tells us that the first trouble of the reign
of Sultan Ghiyas-ud-Din II was caused by a revolt of der-
vishes excited by this Ilyas who had played upon the fana-
ticism of the people. The revolt was suppressed ; but its
instigator managed so to ingratiate himself with Ghiyas-ud-
Din that Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din and his companions left the
Seljiiq court in disgust. In another place * the same writer
says, on the authority of the historian Jenabi, •'' that Baba
Ilyas was killed in an attempt to raise the people of Amasiya. ■*

Concerning Sheykh Mukhlis, the son of this man, and the
father of the poet, we are told by "^Ali that on the death
(probably it should be the deposition) of Sultan Ghiyas-ud-
Din, when chaos reigned in those regions, he was besought
by the people of the province of Ionia, ■' and especially by
his own disciples (for like his father he was ostensibly a
mystic teacher), to become the ruler of the country. He
consented, but after six months of sovereignty resigned,
whereupon his province was handed over to Qaraman, the son
of Nur-ud-Din, which latter had been one of Baba Ilyas's

' Histoire de I'Empire Ottoman, vol. i, pp. 43-4.

* Hist. Emp. Ott. vol. i, p. 262, note.

' Jenabi is an Ottoman historian who wrote in Arabic a history of the
Muhammedan dynasties down to 997 (1588-9), under the title of El-Bahr-uz-
Zakhkhar, 'The Flowing Tide.' He died in 999 (i 590-1).

* Under the entry ' Qaraman ' in his Biographical and Geographical Dic-
tionary Sami Bey speaks of Baba Ilyas as 'one of those sheykbs who took
up dervishhood as a pretext for acquiring position and fortune,' and adds
that he was killed. The story of his winning the Sultan's favour may perhaps
arise from a confusion between him and his disciple NUr-ud-Din the Siifi.
From all accounts Baba Ilyas seems to have been one of those 'Siifis' whose
acts contributed to bring the name of the sect into ill repute.

' The name Ionia (Vunan") used sometimes to be given by the Turks to
the region (more or ^ess) which is generally called Qaraman.

178

'Sufi's.' ' Both ^Ali and Tash-kopri-zade say that MukhHs,
after staying for a time in the country subject to Qaraman,
joined "^Osman Khan, the founder of the Ottoman power,
and was present at many of that monarch's victories.

Of the poet himself there is even less to tell than of his
father or grandfather. Tash-kopri-zade and "^Ali both give
him a brief notice, but Latifi is the only one of the Tezkire-
writers to make any mention of him. The last-named bio-
grapher's statement that ^Ashiq came from some place near
the confines of Persia is almost certainly erroneous, and looks
very like a blurred reminiscence of his grandfather's con-
nection with Khurasan. Tash-kopri-zade is much more likely
to be correct when he says that it was from the Kingdom
of Qaraman that ^Ashiq came to the town of Qir-Shehri,
in what is now the province of Angora, where, according
to all authorities he settled, and where he eventually died
and was buried. Latifi says that it was during the time of
Sultan Orkhan, who reigned from 726 (1326) to 761 (1359),
that ^Ashiq came into Riim, being attracted thither by the

' According to Von Hammer (Hist. Emp. Ott. vol. i, p. 262), during the
reign of Ghiyas-ud-Din's predecessor ""Ala-ud-Din, which extended from 616
(1219) to 634 (1236-7), 'Nour Sofi,' an Armenian by birth and one of tlie
most fanatical disciples of Baba Ilyas, settled in Qonya, where his son Qara-
man won the favour of the Sultan who gave him his daughter in marriage
and appointed him to a higla office at court. ' Nour Sofi' succeeded by a
ruse in getting possession of the stronghold of Selef ke — till then in Byzantine
hands — whereupon "^Ala-ud-Din invested Qaraman with the government of the
same, adding thereto tliat of the town of Larende. This was the beginning
of what on the Seljuq collapse became the Kingdom of Qaraman, originally
the strongest in the Decarchy and for a century and a half the stoutest rival
of the Ottoman. Tash-kopri-zade says that after Sheykh Mukhlis Baba had
been King in Ionia (Viindn) for six months he seated in his place Qaraman,
a five-year-old son of Niiv-ud-Din, one of Baba Ilyas's Sufis.

As will be noticed, the historians differ as to the age of Qaraman; Von
Hammer makes him a married man and court oflicial during ^Ala-ud-Din's
reign ; Tash-kopri-zade says he was a child at the time of the fall of Ghiyas-
ud-Din, "^Ala-ud-Din's successor. Possibly the Qaraman who succeeded Sheykh
Mukhlis was a si'andson of Nur-ud-Din the Sufi.

179

presence of the famous and venerated saint Hajji Bcktash
who was then living in the neighbourhood of Qir-Shehri and
whose companion he became. '

That is all the biographers have to say concerning the
life of this old poet, which would seem to have been as
uneventful as an)' man's could be in those stirring times.
Not one of them gives a single date ; but in a Persian
couplet - at the end of the table of chapters in his poem the
dates of his birth and death are mentioned as 670 (127 1-2)
and 13th. Safer 733 (3rd. Nov. 1332).'

• This Hajji Bektash has always been a saint of great repute in Turkey.
Early in the eighth century of the Hijre (the fourteenth century A. D.) he
came from Nishapiir in Khurasan to Anatolia, where he was visited by Sultan
Orkhan who received his blessing. When that Sultan founded the famous
regiment of the Janissaries, he went to the cell of the saint accompanied by
a few representatives of the newly instituted corps on which he implored
the blessing of the holy man. Hajji Bektash in response held out his arm
over the head of the foremost soldier, pronounced his blessing, and at the
same time named the regiment Yeni-Cheri or '■ New-Troop,' which name we
have corrupted into Janissary. Hajji Bektash lived on into the time of Sultan
Murad I, who reigned from 761 (1359) to 792 (1390). He is buried at a
place near Qir-Shehri called after him Hajji Bektash, and his tomb has ever
been a favourite place of visitation. Numerous stories, many of which are
recorded in ^Ali's work, are current concerning the miracles he is alleged to
have worked. The dervishes of the Bektashi order, which takes its name from
him, have always regarded him as their Fir or spiritual chief; the rules of
the order were not, however, drawn up by him, but by one of his disciples,
Balim by name, who is looked upon as the second Pir of the order.

3 ^3 juXJl A.i: ;Lj ^Lxj ^=> .lA-J' iA_/ol

'He came to the world in kh , he went away in zlj,
'The 13th. day of Safer, the night of Tuesday, O so-and-so!'
Here the numerical values of the letters «:> kh"^ give 670, those of ^^
zlj give 733. -So-and-so' is the reader.

3 Katib Chelebi likewise gives 733 as the year of "^Ashiq's death both in
his Taqwim-ut-Tewarikh or 'Chronological Tables' and in his great biblio-
graphical dictionary called Keshf-uz-Zuniin. Von Hammer's statement, for
which he gives no authority, that the poet lived on into the reign of Murad I
is therefore incorrect.

i8o

"^Ashiq had a son named "^Ulwan who was Hke himself a
mystic poet, and who settled in a spot near Amasiya where
his tomb is still a place of visitation. *

The biographers are at one in extolling the sanctity and
many virtues of "^Ashiq Pasha and in declaring that his tomb
was in their time, as it still is, a favourite shrine with pious
souls in the neighbourhood when they would in an especial
manner supplicate the Heavenly Grace. ^ According to Latifi,
he was man of great wealth and lived in princely style, but
was none the less a true dervish in his heart and ways. 'He

• The only verse of ' Ulwan Chelebi's that I have seen is the following which
is quoted in the Crimson Peony : —

(^.'ji^-^ i^kj-^^S^ »l\j.a4.^ .iAjjX^.^^ * ..O iM^^i-c i C*^ ^' tik^J .JIJ^S li^jL^J^^

'Still is ^Ulwan the most lowly of the servants of the saints;
' He is lowliest, he is lowliest, lowliest of the lowly he.'

The author of the Peony says that in his youth he visited the tomb of
■^Ulwan and was much edified and benefited in consequence thereof. He says
that "^Ulwan was the author of a Diwan.

2 Although not countenanced by the Koran, the practice of visiting the
tombs of holy men is common in Muhammedan countries. The object of these
pious visitations varies with the intellectual status of the pilgrim. The most
ignorant members of the community, more especially women of the lower
classes, go there in order to implore some temporal or material favour (very
often a son), and sometimes these even address their prayers to the saint
himself. Persons somewhat higher in the intellectual and social scale look
upon such spots as holy ground and believe that prayers offered there have
a peculiar efficacy. The better educated among the strictly orthodox visit
such shrines out of respect for the holy man and in order to salute the
place where his remains repose. The object with which the mystics, with
whom must he included most of the poets as well as writers like Tash-
kopri-zade, make such pilgrimage is that they may enjoy what they call mu-
raqaba or ' spiritual communion ' with the soul of the holy man. The pilgrim
in this case fixes his heart or soul wholly on that of the saint, the result
being that it experiences an ecstatic communion with this in the Spirit World,
whereby it is greatly strengthened and rejoiced on its return to the earthly
plane. It is not, we are expressly told, because the soul of the saint is sup-
posed to linger about his tomb that the mystic goes thither for his muraqaba ;
but because it is easier for the mystic to banish all outside thoughts and
fix his heart wholly and exclusively on that of the saint in a place which is
hallowed by associations- with the latter.

i8i

is the dervish,' Latifi reports "^Ashiq as having said, ' who
renounceth the world, he is the beggar whom the world
renounceth ; for with tlieni of the Truth true poverty is not
the outward, it is the inward ; and that which they call
dervishhood dwelleth not in homespun and serge and tattered
cloak, it dwelleth in the heart; the dervish who loveth the
world, whatsoever be his poverty and indigence, is yet a
wordling ; while that rich man, whatsoever be his riches and
worldly power, who yet in his heart loveth not those things,
nor inclineth thereunto, neither seeketh after them, howsoever
rich a lord he be, is yet in the eyes of them of the Way
among the folk of renunciation and of those who are dead
unto the world : brief, dervishhood is the plucking from the
heart the love of ' the all beside,' ' and the freeing of the
soul from the fetters of the world ; elsewise, through cowl
and frock and rosary and staff becometh no man a Sufi
pure of heart ; and if one hold not this path, never shall
he find the way to come nigh unto The Truth.'

The long mesnevi poem which constitutes '^Ashiq Pasha's
contribution to literature has been known by more names
than one ; but, as Dr. Rieu has pointed out, - its true title
is Ghanb-Name ^ or 'The Book of the Stranger.' * That this

• The Sum of the Universe is frequently expressed as: Allah (i.e. 'God')
p/us Md-sewd-Uah i. e. "• What is beside God.' This phrase ' What is beside
God' thus represents the phenomenal or contingent universe. Contracted to
Md-sewd 'the what is beside,' 'the all beside,' or 'the what is else,' 'the
all else,' it is constantly used by, poets and other writers, generally with a
sense similar to that of our expression ' the world, the flesh and the devil,'
namely, material or earthly objects that engross man to the exclusion of
things Divine.

2 In his admirable Catalogue of the Turkish .MSS. in the I'.ritish Museum, 1888.

5 The Ghanb-Name is unprinted. There arc two MSS. in the British Museum,
one perfect (Harl. 55 11), and one imperfect (Add. 7932).

♦ This title might allude to the state of man as an exile in this world,
far from his Heavenly home, or to the position of the writer as a stranger
iu the town of Uir-Shelui.

l82

is so is proved by a passage in the poem itself. In the
last division of the last chapter, almost at the very end of
the book, in a discourse on the Koranic text 'And we have
not sent any apostle save with the language of his people,' ^
occur these lines : —

None did to the Turkish tongue a glance accord,
None had ever to the Turks his heart outpoured.
Yet the Turks knew naught of yonder tongues, 2 I say.
Naught of all those stages vast, that narrow Way. ^
Now there comes this Gharib-Name in their speech,
That this folk likewise the hidden lore may reach. *

This leaves no doubt as to what the poet himself called his
book; and this, his own title, has very properly been gener-
ally adopted of late. '' But in the Crimson Peony, which was
written in the middle of the sixteenth century, we read that
the 'true name' of '^Ashiq's poem is Ma'^arif-Name or 'The
Book of the Sciences;' and this is the title under which
Katib Chelebi " has entered it in his Bibliographical Dic-
tionary. When Tash-kopri-zade speaks here of its 'true
name,' he means to oppose this to its popular name which

1 Koran, xiv, 4.

2 Arabic and Persian.

3 The mystic life is often figuratively spoken of as a Way or a Journey
with many Stages all of which are carefully mapped out and well known to
the initiate.

5 Thus Velcd Chelebi in the article already referred to speaks of ^Ashiq's
poem as the Gharib-Name.

8 Katib Chelebi and Hajji Khalifa are the surnames given to Mustafa bin-
"AbduUah, a very distinguished Ottoman scholar and man of letters who
flourished during the seventeenth century, dying about the year 1068 (1657-8).
He left many valuable woi^ks on various branches of knowledge, the most
important being the great bibliographical dictionary entitled Keshf-uz-Zumin.
This work, which is in Arabic, was published along with a Latin translation

i83

was the 'Diwan of "^Asliiq Pasha,' ' or even simply '^Ashiq
Pasha.' This title of ' Di'wan of *^Ashiq Pasha,' which seems
to have been the only one known to Latifi and Von Ham-
mer, is singularly inappropriate to a poem which is wholly
in mesnevi verse, and must have arisen either through
ignorance or through a slovenly use of the word Di'wan as
a generic name for books of poetry without regard to the
nature of their contents.

"^Ashiq's theme is naturally the mystic philosophy, the only
possible theme for a poet of that age in those lands; and
it is in true Oriental fashion that he sets about his task.
He does not attempt to present to his readers any systematic
account of the tenets that he holds, but by discoursing on
a vast variety of subjects, always from the one standpoint,
that of the Sufi thinker, he seeks to place them in posses-
sion of an immense mass of details all correlated, if all in
chaos. The more readily to accomplish this, he hit upon an
ingenious and, as far as I know, original plan for the ar-
rangement of his book. The Ghan'b-Name is divided into
ten Babs or ' Chapters,' each of which is subdivided into
ten Dastans or ' Legends.' Now in the ten Legends of the
First Chapter the poet deals with subjects associated in some
way with the number One; similarly, in those of the Second
Chapter he deals with subjects associated with the number
Two. In like manner the Legends of the Third Chapter
deal with 'the Threes,' those of the Fourth with 'the Fours,'
and so on right through. Thus, for example, the Seventh
Legend of the Fifth Chapter treats of the Five Senses,
the First of the Seventh of the Seven Planets, while the

by G. Fluegel in 1835-58. European writers generally speak of this author
by his surname of Hajji Khalifa (which they usually corrupt into Hajji Khalfa);
Turkish writers generally call him Katib Chelebi. I prefer to follow the Turks.
' Sometimes in the Turkish form, "^Ashiq Pasha Diwani ; sometimes in the
Persian, Diwan-i 'Ashiq Pasha.

i84 :

Third of the same has for text the Seven Ages of Man. As
a rule, each Legend consists of two parts, the first containing
the exposition of the subject, and the second being a kind
of metrical homily on some verse of the Koran or some
Hadis or other aphorism of the mystics which, along with
the subject, is indicated in a prefatory rubric.

That the poet is thus enabled in his hundred Legends to
touch upon a great variety of matters is obvious; not less
so is it that while his work may thereby acquire an external
semblance of orderliness, an artificial and fantastic arrange-
ment such as this must, even were there nothing else,
render the expression of any true sequence of ideas an im-
possibility. When I speak of a true sequence of ideas I speak
from the modern European point of view; but in considering
such works as this Gharib-Name we must ever bear in mind
that they were not written for modern Europeans, that they
were written by Oriental mystics for Oriental mystics, that
is, by and for men whose mental attitude is very different
from ours. The purpose of such books, moreover, is not
to expound the Sufi philosophic system — that is taken for
known and granted — but to show by example piled upon
example how the central truth upon which that system is
built underlies all phenomena psychical and physical alike.

Tiie Gharib-Name was finished in 730 (1329-30), > only
three years before the poet's death, and although it is therefore
probable that it was, at least in part, written in the town
of Qir-Shehri, it were natural to imagine that the dialect in
which it is composed would be that of the author's native
country of Qaraman. But there is a marked difference between

' We leavn this from the following lines that occur in the epilogue : —

i85

"^Ashiq's vocabulary ami that of Sultan Vclcd whose work
was written less than thirty years earlier and in Qonya, the
very city that became the Qaraman capital. ^Ashiq Pasha's
language, though differing in detail from that of Yunus,
resembles it in being much closer to the Ottoman than that
of Veled. It may therefore be that the Gharib-Name was
either written wholly in Qir-Shehri and in the dialect which
prevailed there, or, that if any part were composed before
the author's arrival in that town, this was modified after he
had settled there and become familiar with the local form
of Turkish. "^Ashiq's metre is the Persian hexametric remel, '
that of Jelal-ud-Din and Sultan Veled ; his prosody continues
essentially Turkish, but with a larger percentage of quanti-
tative feet and a more sustained endeavour to manipulate
the words in conformity with the Persian system.

The verses themselves read smoothly, and in matters of
technique are on the whole tolerably correct ; but poetry
they are not. The work is a poem in form alone, and at a
later period would most probably have been written in prose.
As it is, the author naturally took Sultan Veled and Mevlana
Jelal-ud-Din as his models ; they wrote in verse, so he did
the same ; they used a particular metre, so he used it also ;
they, engrossed in the didactic side of their work, wholly
overlooked the artistic, so he did likewise. "^Ashiq plods on
through his hundred Legends patiently and conscientiously,
but he rarely, if ever, gets beyond the level of a not very
distinguished prose. His work has even less of the quality
of poetry than Veled's ; and were it not for the curious con-
ceptions and quaint illustrations that are scattered through
its chapters, it would prove but dreary reading. There is, of

' The Remel-i Museddes or 'Hexametric Remel' (sec p. io8) is so called
because each couplet consists of six feel, thus : —

— ^ I— ^ I — w-ll _w I —^ I _^_

1 86

course, hardly any attempt at art; ^ the rhymes are often
imperfect, and there is — as is usual in literatures in their
infancy — a constant recurrence of certain expletive phrases
when lines have to be filled up. By way of accounting for
this absence of the rhetorical embellishments so dear to the
Oriental, Latifi tells us that the men of God give no heed
to artifices and fancies in their verses in order to find favour
with the people, nor seek to trick out their phrases in the
hope of fame and honour. If we add to this the example
of '^Ashiq's models and the condition of the Turkish language
at the time he wrote, the explanation will be fairly adequate.
At the end of the Persian preface already mentioned occur
the following four lines of Turkish verse — the first words in
that language in the book — which read like an apology for
the poem's being written in the vulgar tongue instead of in
Arabic or Persian, which up till then had been regarded
as the only literary languages of Islam : —

Even though the Turkish tongue is spoken here,
Yet the Mystic Stages are made known and clear.
So thou findest all the Stages of the Way,
Turn not thou from Turk or Tajik 2 tongue away. ^

The reason why ^Ashiq chose to write in Turkish we
have already learned from the passage quoted on page 182;
and whatever we may think of his literary ability, we must
hold him in honour as the first who seriously and system-

• The only rhetorical figure that recurs with any frequency is the variety
of homonymy known as merfii or 'repaired' which is described on page 117,
and, as there remarked, has always been a favourite with the Turkish poets.

2 Tajik is a name given in some parts of Central Asia to the descendants
of the Persians who remained in the cities of those regions after their occu-
pation by the Turks.

. , - O 7

<yj

c»

i8r

atically endeavoured to lay open before his fellow-countrymen
what was for him the Way of Truth. •

The followin;^ is the First Legend of the Fourth Chapter
antl is here translated in its entirety; the subject, namely
the Four P21ements of early science, as well as the aphorism
and the Koranic verse which form the text of the homily,
is mentioned in the Persian prose rubric which runs thus: —
'The First Legend of the Fourth Chapter: The Story of
the Commentation on the Four Elements, the which are
the Four Columns of the Microcosm and the Four Declensions
of the [Macrocosm, ' the which consist of these: — the Fixture,
the Traction, the Elevation and the Rest, ^ and the wiiich
are in the Similitude of Four Pillars: And on the Incitation
to the Understanding of 'Whoso knoweth himself knoweth
his Lord,' ^ and to the joyful Persistence in the Rendering
of Thanks, because of this Verse, 'If ye give Thanks, I will
surely give you Increase.' ^

1 For the Microcosm and Macrocosm see pp. 62-3.

2 The terms Nasb, Jerr, Rer, Sukiin, here rendered by ' Fixture,' 'Traction,'
' Elevation ' and *• Rest,' are in Arabic grammar technically applied to the
vowels, upon the position and interchange of which almost the whole me-
chanism of the language depends; these may thus be justly described as the
'Four Pillars' of the Arabic tongue. It is in like manner on the Four Ele-
ments and the interchanges that take place among these that the structure
of the physical world rests (see pp. 47-8); wherefore these are often called the
' Four Columns.' Water may be compared to Nasb, ' Fixture,' because it is
as it were tied down to Earth and is unable to rise to the higher spheres;
Air to Jerr, 'Traction,' as the wind carries along things, such as ships at
sea; Fire to Ref^, 'Elevation,' as it is the lightest and most subtle of the
elements, and ever seeks to ascend to its own, the highest of the elemental
spheres (see p. 46); and Earth to Sukiln, 'Rest,' as it is stationary in the
centre of the Universe.

■' This famous Svifiistic aphorism, which is attributed to "^Ali, has been
already mentioned (see p. 63).

♦ This is the verse from the Koran, xiv, 7.

i88

From the Gharib-Name. [lo]
The First Legend of the Fourth Chapter.

Lo! the wondrous things that God hath wronghten see!
What the hand of Power Divine hath brought to be!
Wishful yearned He to make Himself be known, '
Build the Kingdom, 2 fill with creatures of His own.
' Be !' He said, 3 — the world, the soul, the body were,
Earth and sky arose, and man and genie there.
Every thing another's cause ordained He,
Hence relationship 'twixt all the things that be.
Never hath there been a causeless thing on earth,
Never unrelated creature hath come forth.
Whatsoe'er hath come, there is a root for all;
Whatsoever thing hath root hath shoot withal.
He who hath nor root nor branch, — then who is he?
He is He who unto all doth give decree!
Listen, till that of His mighty power I tell.
So that thou may know this business sure and well;
See what He hath done, what He hath made, hath wrought,
What He hath created, what from what hath brought.
Knowledge of this work behoveth thee always.
List then while I tell, then plunge midmost amaze.

First the Prime Intelligence * created He,
Through the which Four Ministers He made to be;
He those Four the Columns Four of earth hath dressed,
Whereby Fixture, Elevation, Traction, Rest.
Water, Fire, Air and Earth He named them there,
And He made of them this Kingdom's bases fair.

> An allusion to the Hadis: 'I was a Hidden Treasure, therefore was I fain
to be known, and so I created creation in order that I should be known.'
See pp. 16-7.

2 Probably in reference to the term 'Alem-i Mulk, the 'World of the
Kingdom,' which the mystics so often give to the physical plane. See p. 56.

3 An allusion to the Koranic phrase '•Be! and it is.' See p. 171, n. 4.

♦ The Primal or Universal Intelligence, the first emanation from the One.
See p. 42.

1 89

Four domains unto the Four did God decree,

For it was not meet that these should subject be.

Each of these attends his work steadfast and sure,

And it is through these this world doth still endure.

Hearken now what is the work of each of these,

See how gladsome in his work the worker is.

Plain and garden blossom by the toil of one;

Through his labour oil and honey plenteous run.

As the Kingdom's lamp another shineth bright,

Earth and sky are filled with his radiant light.

One is carpet-spreader to earth's surface e'er.

Which he careful waters, besoms, cleanses fair.

Thereunto ordained, fast abideth one,

That created things may pass their term thereon.

In their fourfold work the Four are blithe and gay ;

Each a-work at his own work, yet mates are they.

Never till the Day of Resurrection glows

From their offices shall any these depose.

'Tis these Chieftains Four who form earth's bases sure;

These it is who ever hold the earth secure ;

'Tis through these the world doth fixed and steadfast show;

'Tis through these that plants upon the earth do grow.

Naught upon this earth may to existence win

But of these there still is present therewithin.

Whatsoe'er hath form doth grow from out these Four,

And from these all such receive their food moreo'er.

Come then, and with thought consider thine estate ;

Learn and understand, so thou be wise, thy state.

See too in what manner God hath dealt by thee.

How He fashioned thee, for what He made thee be;

What the Grace that yon All-Wise to thee hath shown.

What the boon that yon All-Kind to thee hath done.

If thou knowest of His power, give thanks alway.

Call upon Him ceasing never night or day.

The saying of Him — exalted be He! —
'If ye give thanks, I will surely give you increase.' '

' The already quoted Koranic verse which serves as text for the homily
that follows.

190

So thou givest thanks, He will His gifts increase ;
List then till I tell thee what thy business is.

The saying of Him — exalted be He ! —
' And as for the favour of thy Lord, discourse thereof.'

When that God existence upon thee bestowed.
Earth and Water, Air and Fire in worship bowed;
Ready to thy service these arose straightway.
Full surrender to thy greatness offered they. 2
Each to set his face in service loyal was fain •,
(Know that this is true, nor hold these words for vain.)
What the work of each of these is I will tell.
That thou mayest know the manner of this tale.

Look, within thy heart a-burning see the Fire ! *
What the heat within thee, if it be not Fire?
'Tis the Fire keeps the vitals warm in thee;
'Tis through it thy body still in health doth l)e.
Fire too the sun that risetli every day
And with brightness fills thy house as dark it lay.
Nursing, it matureth all that thou dost sow;
Fostering, it ripens whatsoe'er doth grow.
That thou mayest eat and offer thanks withal.
Day and night upon the name of God mayst call.

' If ye give thanks, I will surely give you increase.'

Likewise came the Air and became breath for thee.
That thereby this cage * might walk, might living be.
Should the breath depart and not return again.
Dies the body, if no breath of Air be ta'en.
Every hour a thousand times, O saintly one, *
God doth grant that Air to thee, a precious boon,

1 Koran, xciii, 1 1 .

2 All the elements being inferior to man who is the crown and compendium
of the entire creation.

3 Referring to what the old physicians called the ' Kind, or Kindly, (i. e.
Natural) Heat' (Hararet-i Ghariziye), that is, the heat of the thick blood of
the heart, in which the life resides. It represents the normal high temperature
of the body.

* 'This cage,' 1. e. the body in v/hich the soul is, as it were, imprisoned.
5 ' O saintly one' is an address to the pious reader.

That for this likewise thou mayest thauks accord;
So with grateful breath acknowledge thou the Lord. '

'■ If ye give thanks, I will surely give you increase.'

See the Water, how within thy veins 'tis blood.
If thou drink it, straightway is thy thirst subdued.
Therewithal thy body lives in pleasant guise,
Using it to wash in, drink, ablutionise.
Skinker 'tis alike for wordling and for saint;
Aye, and for the Master's Face it yearns a-faint.
This likewise yon Glorious One hath granted free.
Making it a fountain from His grace to thee.
That thou mightest drink and offer thanks anew;
Meet it is that service-rite be paid as due.

'If ye give thanks, I will surely give you increase.'

See the Earth and what the Lord therewith hath done;
He hath made the same for thee a pleasant throne.
He hath made a stead for thee on Earth right well
That upon the same thou mayest constant dwell.
From this Earth too He a form hath given thee
Such that dazed and mazed thereat are all who see.
Meet it is then thou shouldst offer thanks and praise,
Meet thou shouldest thank Him for this grace always.

' If ye give thanks, I will surely give you increase.'

So that lawful be for thee this breath and love,
So that hour by hour thy fortune greater prove,
Since these Four, O Joy, * unto thee service do,

1 Sa'^di says in the Preface to the Gulistan, ' Every breath when it goeth
down prolongeth life, and when it cometh forth it rejoiceth the soul; so in
every breath are two blessings, and for every blessing a separate thanksgiving
is due.'

2 Ey Safa, 'O Joy' Qt 'O Calm;' this again is an address to the 'gentle
reader.' The old mystic poets are fond of thus apostrophizing their readers,
who were doubtless almost always mystic philosophers like themselves. Thus
addresses like Ey Hakim! or 'O Sage!' Ey Jan! or 'O Soul!' Ey Deli! or
'O mad one!' are of constant occurrence.

192

Be thou in the Love of God both leal and true.
These at once thy servants are, thy source, thy heart;
Ne'er let doubt thereof within thy bosom start.
Greater these than thou to outward seeing are,
Lesser these than thou in inward being are.
If one look unto the form, these nourish thee;
Know thou yet that they in truth thy servants be.
Come are these to nourish and sustain thy frame.
Come they are not for to make thee slave to them.
Every thing doth serve the soul with one accord.
While the soul itself is come to serve the Lord.
Pity if it should its servants' servant be,
To its own dependents paying service-fee.
To the wise these words enow the meaning show;
O my mad one, ' from these words will meaning grow.
Nor would more of words avail the fool in aught;
Hearing, of their meaning he would gather naught. 2
Whosoever shall have known himself in truth, 3 —
He, collected, * to himself is come in sooth.
Unto him the root of all the meaning 's known.
Therefore is he judge and subject both in one. ^
To the lover 'tis Love's words the meaning show.
Never shall the loveless frere the meaning know.

O my God ! of him to whom these words are clear
Quicken Thou the love, that with his soul he hear;
Never let him from Thy love depart or stray.
Losing ne'er in Either World the Narrow Way.

1 Here again the mystic reader is addressed. As we have already seen,
the mystics are fond of speaking of tliemselves as ' mad.'

? . 0-0 o - ) „o^

2 These two couplets reflect the Arabic proverb, s.LXv"^) i^xixj JJL*J)
s.LaC ^_ftjl *jifiAj "^ ij*-^--' 5 'a hint sufficeth for the wise, but a thousand

speeches profit not the heedless.'

3 Here the poet refers to the aphorism quoted in the rubric.

* i. e. he whose mind is collected, is calm, being possessed of knowledge.

^ 1. c. such an one, knowing the laws of nature, is able to judge of them,
and to determine many things through them; while he, in common with all,
is subject to them. Moreover, he has reached the point where he sees that the
knower and the known, that subject and object, are one.

193

In the following extract from the Sixth Legend of the
Fourth Chapter there is a curious comparison of humanity
to a road lying between earth and Heaven along which souls
must journey, the human body being figured as a four-
gated city on this road, through which all must pass. The
homily which succeeds (here omitted) deals with the means
of distinguishing the true mystic from the hypocrite.

From the Gharib-Name. [ii]
The Sixth Legend of the Fourth Chapter.

Now shall I a wondrous matter tell in verse,
And from point to point expound, comment, rehearse,
That this matter edify the soul in thee,
Food and nouriture eke for thy faith it be;
That thou mayest from this matter know thy state, •
That these words may learn thee of thine own estate ;
That the faithful from the hypocrite thou know.
What the life of each of these is here below.
Hearken then and how this thing is I shall tell,
So thou mayest know this business sure and well.

Through humanity a four-doored road doth go,
Where the folk of earth and Heav'n pass to and fro.
E'en as 'twere a two-doored caravanseray.
Like the months the caravan fares on alway. •
Earth and Heaven, each doth like a country lie.
Like the road between them lies humanity.
As a city on that road this form 2 doth show,
Through the which both wise and foolish come and go.
In the middle of that city is a throne,
And the Sovran on that throne is God alone.

' The caravan of human individuals; these never remain, but like the
months of the year they are ever passing away, others coming on to take
their place. A caravanseray is an inn or hostelry where caravans halt on
their journey.

2 The human body.

194

Soul His kingdom, Heart His treasure-'house, and there

Mind His alnager, His measure Knowledge fair.

Stands this City of the Form in high esteem 5

E'en although to thee so circumscribed it seem. ^

In this city there are Portals Four in truth;

I shall name each by its name in all good sooth :

One of these is called the Eye, and one the Ear,

One the Tongue, and one the Hand, as thou dost hear.

Good and evil, all must pass through these in whole,

Be arraigned before the mind, pass through the soul.

Through the Hand some leave that enter through the Eye,

Through the Ear come some that through the Tongue do hie.

Thus the Ear gets words the which it gives the heart.

From the heart again these to the Tongue do start;

Wot ye well what comes through Eye through Hand doth go,

And what comes through Ear through Tongue departeth, know.

The last extract which I shall give from the Ghan'b-Name
is the Fourth Legend of the Seventh Chapter. It describes
a series of Seven Things contained one within the other
and each the other's life. In this case there is no homily.

From the Gharib-Name. [12J
The Fourth Legend of the Seventh Chapter.

If thou'rt mate, O heart, with one who knows the Path,
Or if thou thyself art one who vision hath.
Learn its lesson from each thing that thou dost see.
So thou mayest know the Source whence all things be.
If the eye learn of things seen their lessoning,
In the heart will knowledge surely sprout and spring;
Thence to it the Hidden Treasure 2 will be shown,

Man is the Microcosm, the summary and epitome of all things, so his
body (form) has its share in his lofty rank.
2 Another allusion to the favourite Hadis.

195

And by it the manner of this world be known.

Understand thou that this world is manifold :
What then are its folds? Why is it fold on fold?
What is of each fold the state, the fashioning?
Knowledge verily it is to know this thing.
Hearken then unto these words that I recite,
That thou mayest know the Heavenly Sovran's might.
Know then that this world is sevenfold, I say,
Inner, outer, hidden each from each are they. '
One the other's life these Seven Folds are, see.
These as 'twere the veins, as 'twere the blood those be.
Deeper in than all there lies the Life of Lives,
That it is for which each being yearns and strives.
Bodies are these Seven Folds, the life is That;
Whoso knoweth, he may know all things but That.
To the proving of these words come now are we ;
Look, the providence of yonder Sovran see.
See thou how this world is fashioned sevenfold,
All toward that King Divine their faces hold.
Each of these shall I describe in turn to thee;
Listen now to how from first to last they be.

One Fold is this Earth and Sky, like body this.
Hearken thou, a wondrous disposition 'tis.
Now these Seven Folds are each the life of each;
Yet material they, if to their root thou reach.
Every form whose inner part is empty, still
Needeth something else its vacuum to fill.

See upon the Earth these Buildings 2 high and low;
That these are the life o' th' Earth, O father, ' know.
Through these buildings 'tis the world 's alive, I say ;
Else 'twere only as a lifeless form for aye.
All these towns and villages on Earth that are,
These it is that keep the Earth alive, be ware.

' i. e. the Seven Folds.

' The original word implies not only buildings but all the external signs
of the cultivation and prosperity of a country.

' Another address to the reader. The word here rendered 'father' is Dede
which literally means 'grandfather,' but is a style given to dervishes, es-
pecially to members of the Mevlevi order.

196

Wheresoever these be waste and ruined,
Know thou this that yonder place is truly dead.
In whatever place there naught of Buildings be,
No one from that place shall aught of profit see.
Thus 'tis Buildings are the life of Earth alway,
Though that in themselves material are they.

Now unto the Buildings' life arrived are we ^
Hearken then to what the life thereof may be.
Even as 'tis Buildings that make Earth to live,
'Tis Humanity that life to tliem doth give;
'Tis the Form of Man that is the life of these 5 - '

Hear this mystery, then plunge midmost amaze.
Every Building whereto Man doth not repair,
Know that thence will come no profit anywhere.
Know of every ruined and deserted stead,
That 'tis as a carcass whence the life is fled.
Whatsoever realm doth all unpeopled lie, —
Dead is yonder region, dead, in verity !
'Tis the Folk that maketh kingdoms firm and sure.
Making still their life and welfare to endure.
'Tis the Folk that are a kingdom's life, in fay ;
If they go, the kingdom dies, it cannot stay.
Many are the lives on earth, but noblest see
Standeth Man; yea. Noblest of the Noble he.
First of all created things Man standeth forth.
So 'tis he who rules the kingdoms upon earth.
Yea, 'tis Man that keeps the life in kingdoms,- yea;
If a kingdom manless be, it dies straightway.

Now to Man a Soul > and Body both belong;
'Tis Iris Soul that keeps his Body stark and strong.
Goes the Soul, the Body dies, it works no more ;
Others take his wealth and all his worldly store.
Through the Soul it is the Form hath beauty fair;
Goes the Soul, desire no more remaineth there. 2
Through the Soul the ear doth hear, the eye behold,

' The sense of tlie word here translated ' Soul ' fluctuates between that
and 'life.'

2 i e. in the body.

197

Through the Soul the foot doth walk, the hand doth hold,
Through the Soul it is the tongue hath power of speech.
And from land to land 'mong folk its judgments reach.
'Tis the Soul that keeps the Form a living thing;
For if go the Soul, what from the Fonn will spring?

That is settled, come and at the Soul look now.
What it is that makes the Soul alive see thou.
Know then Knowledge ' makes the Soul alive in sooth.
Life unto the Soul 's the Knowledge of the Truth.
Whatsoever Soul is Knowledgeless is dead;
See thou how that lower than all else its stead.
'Tis through Knowledge that the Souls such virtue gain;
Therefore doth this over Kings and Sultans reign.
Yonder Soul whose life is Knowledge of the Lord, —
See how over all it reigneth Sovran-lord.

'Tis this Heavenly Knowledge holds the Soul alive;

Much of wisdom from that Soul will grow and thrive.

In -the dullard's Soul there is no life in sooth;

Know these words for true, for they are very truth.

Life upon the Knowers hath the Lord bestowed,

Therefore do these ever yearn and seek for God.

Since it is the life of Souls The Truth to know.

Faithfully this Heavenly Knowledge study thou.
Thus 'tis Knowledge doth the Soul alive maintain.

See now whence this Knowledge its own life doth gain.

'Tis through Reason 2 Knowledge lives in very deed ;

Look through Reason, and therewith this Knowledge read.

Naught of Knowledge his who hath of Reason naught;

He who Reason hath is thence with Knowledge fraught.

He whose Knowledge lives hath this through Reason done,

He who Knowledge wins hath this through Reason won.

Yea, the Knowledge of the Reasonless is dead.

Hence no work of his hath aught accomplished.

'Tis this Reason is the life of Knowledge, sooth;

He who Reason lacks wins not through Knowledge truth.

Who hath Knowledge and yet doth not Reason own? —

• -Ilm.
a 'Aql.

198

From a Knowledge such as his result were none.
Thus that Knowledge living is whose comrade true
Reason is from first to last and through and through.

Well, that Knowledge lives through Reason thou dost see;
Look now at what maketh Reason living be.
Look now, what is it that maketh Reason live?
Hearken, that the tale thereof to thee I give.
Love it is makes Reason live, know thou in truth;
Dead the Loveless Reason is in soothest sooth.
Who may man of Reason yet no Lover be?
W^ere there such, unworthy of The Truth were he.
Dead the Reason that for comrade hath not Love;
Lower such than e'en the very lusts thereof. '
For such Reason as with Love trod not the road
Wisdom and the Mysteries were never food.
'Tis this holy Love is Reason's life indeed;
Love it is that Reason up to God doth lead.
Whate'er Reason is not in that Presence dazed, —
Know the Love of God hath not its life upraised.
Rooted is such Reason fast in drearihead;
For no life it hath, which meaneth it is dead.
Lo this Reason's life is Love in very sooth; '

See how Loveless Reason ne'er may win The Truth.

Well thou knowest now this Reason's life is Love ;
Look at Love and see from whence its life doth prove.
See through what it is that Love is thus alive;
Know in truth The Truth to Love its life doth give.
Yea, the life of Love is through The Truth alone;

1 The word here rendered 'lusts' is nefs, and possibly stands for Nefs-i
Nebatiye 'the Soul Vegetable,' or Nefs-i Haywaniye 'the Soul Sensible,' —
the vital and sentient principles in a living organism (see p. 48-50), Reason
being here personified as such.

The word might also refer to the Nefs-i Emmare, the first of the three
states of the carnal mind. These three states are called: (i) the 'Commanding
Flesh' (Nefs-i Emmare) when the carnal mind is thoroughly dominant; (2) the
'Upbraiding Flesh' (Nefs-i Levwame) when the carnal mind is resisted but
still unsubmissive; (3) the 'Pacified Flesh' (Nefs-i Mutma^inne) when the
carnal mind is totally subdued. The term Nefs-i Mutma^inne is sometimes
applied to the pious mind of a saintly man obedient to all holy impulses,
in which case it is better rendered as the 'Peaceful Spirit.'

199

Parted from The Truth, hath Love nor stead nor wone.

In the world below hath Love no fond desire,

To The Truth alone its wistful hopes aspire.

Naught in Love beside The Truth may ever be;

So the heart is filled, nor seeketh worldly fee.

Ne'er in Love do name and fame exultant rise;

But in Love full many a 'hidden treasure' lies.

'Tis The Truth's own word that by Love's tongue is said,

'Tis The Truth's own work that by Love's hand is sped;

'Tis The Truth's own light that looketh through Love's eye,

Therefore doth it build at times, at times destroy.

Reason, Spirit, Body, Soul are slaves to Love,

For The Truth hath filled Love; doubt ne'er thereof.

Since it is The Truth makes Love alive in sooth.
Hold thou fast by Love that thou mayst win The Truth.
Love is His, the Lover and the Loved is He;
So thou wouldest win to Him, a Lover be.
Know that Love may never be from Him apart,
Ne'er for aught beside take then from Love thy heart.
Love is life of all, The Truth is life of Love;
Hid within the Signless doth that Signless move.

So these Seven Things whereof hath been our speech
Are in verity each one the life of each.
'Tis The Truth, O Joy, that makes the life of Love,
So the Man of Love can never faithless prove.
Love it is makes Reason live without gainsay.
So the face of Reason looks to Love alway.
Knowledge 'tis that holdeth Reason still alive.
From which cause it is this work doth grow and thrive.
Knowledge 'tis that makes the Soul alive, be ware;
Dead indeed the Soul that doth not Knowledge share.
Lives the Body through the Soul, Soulless 'tis dead;
'Neath the dust is aye the Soulless Body's stead.
'Tis through Bodies that yon Buildings living show;
How should kingdom flourish thus through jealous foe?
It is Buildings keep the World a living thing;
Without Buildings what within the World would spring?

These the Seven Things, they have been told in whole;
Where thou passest to through all, there is the Goal !

200

E'en as Seven Veils are these, an thou enquire;
There whereto thou passest through dwells thy Desire.
Now thou needs must pass through these and onward go.
If thy strength vail not to pass, what shalt thou do? —
Hold thou fast by Love, 'tis surest guide for thee,
Passing thee through all to there where dwelleth He.
For that Love is far beyond all else that is.
And its realm Infinitude's dominion is,
He who goes with Love finds to The Truth the way;
Never shall he die, nay, he shall live for aye.
Whoso looks with Love into his dear one's face, —
Wheresoe'er he look, behold, what meets his gaze!
Glory therefore in thy Love, O Lover true;

'Tis through Love that man hath passed this Kingdom ' through.
Whosoe'er hath Love for wings, forth let him go !
Heav'n forfend that he should bide on earth below!
O my God! may we ne'er lose the Narrow Way,
Never let us from Thy Love depart or stray.

1 ' This Kingdom,' i. e. the stages in the physical world, the World of the
Kingdom, that lead up to Man (see pp. 48 and 56).

CHAPTER II.

The Beginning of Secular Poetry.

Teftazani. Cadi Burhan-ud-Dln.

The earliest West-Turkish poets, the men whose work we
have been considering, were all avowedly and exclusively
mystics. But before the dawn of the fifteenth century a new
note was struck, and secular, or at least quasi-secular, poetry
— the eternal blending of love and religion renders dogma-
tising dangerous — made its appearance alongside of verse
confessedly mystic and naught beside.

Before, however, we turn our attention to the valiant and
adventurous Judge who, so far as we know, was the first
to invoke the new spirit, we shall glance for a moment at
a work which though only a translation calls for a brief
mention in these pages.

In his article already referred to, Veled Chelebi, after a
few remarks on ^Ashiq's Gharib-Name, goes on to say that
the next work in Turkish poetry is a versified translation
of SaMi's Biistan or 'Orchard' made in 755 (1354) by the
great and famovis Persian schoolman SaM-ud-Din Mes^ud-i
Teftazani. Of this translation, I have seen no other mention;
it is not referred to by either Katib Chelebi or Von Ham-
mer, nor is it spoken of in any work Oriental or European
that has come under my notice. But Veled Chelebi says
that he has examined it, and quotes a few of the opening
lines as a specimen of its style. These show that Teftazani's
version is in the same metre as the original and, if they
are fairly representative of the whole, that his translation
is very close. There are in Turkish several commentaries
on the Biistan, notably those by Sururi, Shem^^i, and Sudi,
all of whom flourished in the sixteenth century; but I am
not aware of any other translation.

Teftazani, the translator, is one of the greatest scholars
of Islam; it is he who resuscitated Muhammedan learning
after the torrent of Mongol invasion had well-nigh swept
all vestige of culture from those lands. Indeed, his appear-
ance is looked upon by the \dema throughout the Muslim
world as the central point in their history, the men of
learning who preceded the great scholar being called ' the
ancients,' while those who ^lave succeeded him are styled
'the moderns.'

203

Teftazani was born in Khurasan in 722 (1322), and died
in 792 (1390); he was held in high honour by Timur who,
for all his ferocity, knew how to reverence the representa-
tives of learning. '

* These are the lines quoted by Veled Chelebi from the opening of Tef-
tdzani's translation of the Bustdn. The Persian student will observe how
close they arc to the original; —

I pronounce the name of Him who hath created the soul,

Who through (His) wisdom hath made speech flow on the tongue.

To take the hand of the fallen is His work;

Through grace He hearkeneth the excuse of faults.

The heads of kings who bow not the neck, —

Their work is grovelling at His threshold.

He seizeth not violently the rebellious,

Neither doth He push off the guilty.
The date of the translation is given in this passage which occurs in the
canto on 'The Reason of the Writing of the Book:' —

|,Lc ) (joL> ,j^^iJ -^j.Jj iiS * |»U.J ^Ax.^J L_c^' i u-*-jA-j

And this year when this book was set out.

If the reckoning (thereof) from the Flight of the Apostle be asked.

It was seven hundred and fifty-five, exactly.

That the date thereof may high and low hold in writing.

From the days of the Mongol invasion till the time when
Bayezid the Thunderbolt brought the more westerly districts
within the limits of the Ottoman Empire, the vast territories
lying to the east of the Decarchy were in a state of seething
anarchy. From Angora, which had been annexed by Murad I,
away to the farthest limits of Azerbayjan was a welter
of Turkman clans, ever at war with one another and with
their neighbours, and owning no real allegiance to any ruler
beyond their tribal chiefs. From out of this chaos there
emerged in the last quarter of the fourteenth century four
local Turkman dynasties named respectively the Qara-
Qoyunlu or 'Black Sheep' at Erzerum, the Aq-Qoyunlu or
' White Sheep ' at Diyar-Bekr, ' the Zu-1-Qadr at Mer^ash
and the Beni-Ramazan at Adana. ^

Somewhere about the time when the foundations of these
little states were being laid, that is about the year 780
(1378), there was in the city of Erzinjan a very learned and
accomplished Cadi or Judge named Ahmed Burhan-ud-Din.
Our information concerning the career of this remarkable
man who, if not actually the first, was among the very
earliest of the literary lyric poets ^ of the Western Turks,

1 The Black Sheep and the White Sheep were so named from the devices
on their standards.

2 The Black Sheep dynasty existed for about seventy years when it suc-
cumbed to its rival the White Sheep which, in its turn, was overthrown by
Shah Isma'il of Persia early in the sixteenth century. The Zu-1-Qadr held out
till the time of Sultan Selim I, the Beni-Ramazan till that of Suleyman I.

3 I say 'literary' lyric poets in order to exclude men like Yunus Imre,
who, though lyric poets, wrote without regard to the rules of the literary art.

205

is derived chiefly from the biographical work entitled Ed-
Durer-Lil-Kamine or 'The Hidden Pearls' of the famous
Arab historian Ibn-Hajar. ' According to this contemporary
writer, who is cited as their authority by Tash-kopri-zade,
^Ali and SaM-ud-Din, Cadi Burhan-ud-Din, as the poet is
usually called, having completed his studies in jurisprudence
in the city of Aleppo which was then, along with all Syria,
in the hands of the Memliik Sultans of Egypt, returned to
his native town of Erzinjan, where he speedily formed a
close friendship with the Emir or King. This friendship
between the Emir and the Cadi ripened into intimacy till
at length the former gave Burhan-ud-Din his daughter in
marriage. After this, for some unrecorded reason, their
friendship changed into hostility, and Burhan killed his
father-in-law and made himself king in his stead. He then
seized the districts of Siwas and Qaysariya and joining them
to that of Erzinjan, formed a little kingdom with himself
as Sultan. Here he reigned, according to Sa'^d-ud-Din, for
some twenty or thirty years, continually raiding the neigh-
bourhood and fighting with the tribes round about.

In 789 (1387), Ibn-Hajar tells us, a powerful Egyptian
army was sent against Burhan, to which he, though he
knew opposition must be vain, being of a very courageous
disposition, offered a valiant but unavailing resistance. In
799 (i396'7) he found himself hard pressed by some of the
neighbouring Turkman tribes, whereupon he besought aid of
his quondam enemy the Memliik Sultan of Egypt, which,
being granted, enabled him to overcome his foes. But towards

1 Ibn-Hajar el-'^Asqaldnf was born in Egypt in 773 (1371-2), and died
there in 852 (1448-9). He is said to have written more than a hundred and
fifty books. The full title of the work mentioned above is Ed-Durer-ul-Kdmine
fi A"yan-il-Mi^et-is-Samine, '■ The Hidden Pearls, concerning the Notables of
the Eighth Century ;' the book is a biographical dictionary of the prominent
Muslims of the eighth century of the Hijre (A. D. 1300-1397).

206

the end of the following year 800 (that is the summer of
1398) he was killed in a great battle with the White Sheep
chieftain Qara-'^Osman the Black Leech. *

In his narration of the events of the reign of Bayezid
the Thunderbolt, SaM-ud-Din gives a somewhat different
account of the end of Burhan-ud-Din. According to the Otto-
man historian, Sultan Bayezid having heard of the pretensions
and excesses of the upstart ruler of Siwas, set out against
him at the head of a large army. Burhan, terrified at the
approach of so formidable an antagonist, abandoned his
capital and fled to some high and steep mountains in the
neighbourhood of Kharput. Here he waited for a time, hoping
that something would happen in the Ottoman dominions
which would compel the Sultan to retire, and so allow him
to return to his capital. Meanwhile his old enemy the Black
Leech seeing Burhan's extremity to be his own opportunity,
suddenly attacked the fugitive in his retreat, and there slew
him after a desperate conflict. Thus when Bayezid and his
Ottomans arrived, they had nothing to do but take possession
of Burhan's territories which were straightway incorporated
with their own dominions, Zeyn-ul-^Abidin, Burhan's son,
having previously been sent off to his sister's husband Nasir-
ud-Din Bey, the Zu-1-Qadr king of Mer'^ash, by the people
of Siwas who were desirous that no opposition should be
off"cred to Bayezid. ^

' Qara-Iluk or Qara-Yuluk, the ' Black Leech,' is the surname given on
account of liis blood thirstiness to Qara-'^Osman, the grandson of Tur'^Ali
Beg, the first recorded chieftain of the White Sheep clan.

2 In this place Sa'^d-ud-Din says there is some question as to the date
of the death of Burhan-ud-Din. He says that MoUa Idris mentions 794, but
that he himself follows Ibn-Shuhne and Sheref-ud-Din-i Yezdi who give 798,
while Ibn-Hajar has 799. Sa'^d-ud-Din here seems to forget that he had him-
self already given (in his notice on Burhan-ud-Din among the learned men
of Murad I's reign) 800 on the authority of Ibn-Hajar. This last date is
further given in the '^Jqd-ul-Juman fi Tdrikh-Ehl-iz-Zemdn, 'The Necklace of

207

We have no particulars concerning the fatal quarrel between
Burhan-ud-Din and his father-in-law and so can say nothing
as to how far, if at all, the former was justified in bringing
about the Emir's death. But Tash-kopri-zade, following Ibn-
Hajar, speaks of Burhan's seizure of the government of Er-
zinjan as ' the fruitage of the tree of craft and intrigue,'
and this, taken in conjunction with the ambitious and ag-
gressive temper which the Cadi-Sultan afterwards displayed,
inclines one to suspect that this dim tragedy may have been
in but too true harmony with the fierce spirit of that law-
less age.

But be this as it may, all the authorities agree in lauding
the learning and courage of the gifted and daring adven-
turer. When speaking of the resistance that he offered to
the overwhelming forces of the Memliiks, Ibn-Hajar, as
reported by Tash-kopri-zade, says, that although Burhan-ud-
Din knew it was impossible to stem the flood, yet his native
valour impelled him to stand up against it ; and farther on,
when describing his character, he declares that 'courage and
audacity were implanted in his nature, and he was passing
brave and terrible, valorous and awful.' ^Ayni, another almost
contemporary Arab historian, says of him, 'his was bounty
indescribable; but he busied himself with hearkening to
instruments of music and with drinking things forbidden;
and his is fair poetry in Arabic, in Turkish and in Persian;
and he was a lord of high emprize, and he bowed not his
head to the Lord of Egypt, nor yet to the Son of "^Osman, '
nor yet to Timur.' '^

Pearls, concerning the History of the Men of the Time,' by another Arab
historian, Bedr-ud-Din ^Ayni, who died in 855 (145 1). Katib Chelebi also
gives 800 as the date of Cadi Hurhan-ud-Din's death.

' In direct contradiction to Sa'd-ud-Din's statement that Burhan fled on the
approach of Bayezid.

2 In his Bibliographical Dictionary (vol. ii, p. 139) Katib Chelebi mentions

2o8

The best-known of Cadi Burhan-ud-Din's writings was his
Terjih, a commentary on the great work on the principles
of jurisprudence called the Telmih ; both Tash-kopri-zade
and SaM-ud-Din speak of this commentary as being in high
repute among the "ulema of their own time. Burhan wrote
also a grammatical treatise which he called Iksir-us-Sa^adet
or 'The Elixir of Felicity;' but it is his poetry alone that
concerns us here.

Tash-kopri-zade, presumably following Ibn-Hajar, says,
' Mevlana Burhan-ud-Din was master of versification, and he
was ranged and reckoned in the ranks of the poets.' On
the same authority, Sa'^d-ud-Din and "All say, the first, 'he
was master of graceful verse ;' the second, ' as were his
culture and his learning, so were his poetry and his courage.'
"^Ayni says, as we have seen, 'his is fair poetry in Arabic,
in Turkish and in Persian.' And that is all; the Ottoman
Tezkire-writers pass him over in silence. Von Hammer makes
no mention of him. Not a line of this old poet was preserved
by any chronicler; and in the world of letters, where he
had played as bold a part as he had in that of pohtics,
his was but the almost forgotten shadow of a name,
a special history of Cadi Burhan-ud-Din under the title of j^/tolftM ^^
^*vLa.wJ! ,.-jl\]' iM^-J 'The History of the Cadi Burhan-ud-Din of Si was.'
He describes it thus: 'In four volumes; by tlie accomplished ''Abd-ul-'^Aziz
el-Baghdadi. Ibn-" Arab-Shah relateth in his History that he (''Abd-ul-'^Aziz)
was a marvel of the age in verse and prose both in Arabic and Persian, and
that he was the boon-companion of Sultan Ahmed el-Jelayiri at Baghdad.
On his (the Cadi's) alighting thereat (at Baghdad), the Cadi besought him
C^Abd-ul-'^Aziz) of him (Sultan Ahmed), and he (Ahmed) refused, and set up
those who kept watch over him ("Abd-ul-'Aziz); and he ^Abd-ul-^Aziz)
desired to go, and he laid his clothes on the bank of the Tigris and plunged
in, and he came out at another place and joined his companions who had
thought him drowned. And he was honoured and esteemed by the Cadi, and
he wrote for him a fair history, and he narrated therein from the beginning
of his affairs till near his death; and it is more beautiful than the History
of 'Utba in its subtle phrases. And after the death of the Cadi he departed
to Cairo, and there he fell from a roof and died, his ribs being broken.'

209

Little, if any, attention had been paid to the brief passages
just quoted from the niedie\al historians till in 1890 the
British Museum acquired from the executors of Mr. Thomas
Fiott Hughes, a former Oriental Secretary to the British
Embassy in Constantinople, who had there made a collection
of Eastern books, a large and magnificent manuscript con-
taining the Di'wan of Cadi Burhan-ud-Din. ' This volume,
which, as far as is known, is unique, was written in 798
(1395-6), two years before the author's death. On several
grounds it seems not improbable that this manuscript was
prepared for Burhan-ud-Din himself. The date would favour
such an hypothesis, while the beauty and richness of the
decoration show that the volume was destined for some
great personage. The scribe, who was certainly a client of
Burhan's, calls himself Khalil bin Ahmed el-Meleki es-Sultani,
that is, Khalil, the son of Ahmed, the Royalist, the Sultanist.
By way of descriptive title he prefixes to the volume this
sentence in Arabic: 'of the Words of the Sultan, the Wise,
the Just, the Gracious, the Bounteous, in whom are manifest
the Apostolic Virtues, in whom is manifest the Mustafavian
Faith, - the Sultan of Sultans, the Essence of the Water
and the Earth, the Proofs of the Truth and of the World
and of the Faith, the strengthened with the strength of the
One the Sempiternal, the Lord of Victory, Ahmed, the son
of Muhammed, — may God eternalize his Empire and manifest
his Proof unto the Worlds !' This panegyric is clearly the
work of a courtier, and reads very much as though the
volume had been intended for the library of the royal poet.
In the same key are the brief phrases such as, 'And by him:
be his kingdom eternalized!'* 'And by him: be his fortune

' Or. 4126.
Mustafa is one of the names of the Prophet Muhammed.
The word Rurhan means 'Proof;' Burhdn-ud-Din, "• Proof of the Faith.'

xKJU i_\Jli>- jJ ^.

210

increased !' ' which the copyist has prefixed to each ghazel.

Burhan-ud-Din is the earHest West-Turkish lyric poet of
whose work we can speak with any confidence ; as save for
a few lines preserved by the biographers, the writings of his
contemporary Niyazi — of whom more by and by - — have
disappeared. His Diwan is thus the oldest monument of the
literary lyric poetry of the Western Turks that remains to
us ; but it is more, it is in all probability practically the
first collection of such that was made ; as even should we
eventually find the Diwan of the poet just mentioned, it
would at best be contemporary, not earlier.

The volume consists of two sections, the first and by far
the larger containing the ghazels, the second containing
firstly twenty ruba^i's and secondly a much larger number
of detached quatrains described as tuyughat. - Two points
are to be noticed concerning the ghazels as differentiating
this from later collections. The first of these is that the
alphabetical arrangement universal in subsequent diwans is
here ignored, the poems following one another seemingly
at hap-hazard, no order of any kind being observable. The
second is that the poet never mentions his own name ; the
custom of using a makhlas or pen-name had not yet been
introduced among the Turks.

We find in the ghazels the same prosodial peculiarity that
we have noted in the mesnevis of Veled and ^Ashiq, namely,
that while the metres are Persian, the feet are sometimes
quantitative, sometimes syllabic. Here, however, the position
of the two principles is reversed; it is the Persian or quanti-
tativ'C that is the more usual, the Turkish or syllabic falling
into the second place. What may have been the case with

2 Tuyughdt is a pseudo-Arabic plural form of the East-Turkish word
tuyugh.

21 I

Niyazi's ghazels we cannot say, but in those of the h-ric
poets, Ahmed-i Da'^i, Ahmedi and Nesimi, who also were
contemporaries of Burhan, though the bulk of their work is
probably subsequent to Timur's invasion, we find the Persian
system alone observed, and, moreover, fully accepted in its
every detail. Burhan's is therefore the only diwan of literary
ghazels we have which was completed, even to receiving
the last touches it ever got, prior to the development that
synchronised with the Tartar inroad; and consequently these
ghazels are the only known poems of their class which
present that compromise between the Persian and Turkish
prosodial systems so distinctive of the earlier portion of the
First Period. In the ruba'^is the Persian method is more
consistently followed. These ruba'^is are probably the first
ever written in the Turkish language.

Cadi Burhan-ud-Din is, so far as I know, the only literary
poet among the Western Turks who has made use of the
old native verse-form called Tuyugh. This, as may be remem-
bered, is identical in rhyme-arrangement with the ruba*^! or
quatrain; that is to say, it is a short poem of four lines,
the first, second and third of which rhyme together. ' But
it is not written in any of the Persian rubaS' metres, being
composed in lines of eleven syllables which are of course
always scanned in the Turkish syllabic style. - It is curious
to note how in his tuyughs Burhan goes out of his way to
be as much of a Turkman as he can. His ghazels and ruba^'s
are written in a pure, though somewhat peculiar, West-
Turkish dialect, but the tuyughs abound with East-Turkish
words and grammatical forms which he uses nowhere else.
In writing in what is essentially an East-Turkish form he

• See p. 90.

2 The cadence corresponds to the Persian Hexametric Rcmel: —

— \^ I — (^ I — \^ —

212

seems to have very properly thought that it behoved him
as an artist to express himself so far as might be in the
fashion of his Central Asian kinsfolk.

The sentiment and manner of Burhan's poetry are of
course Persian ; he learned, as was inevitable, from the only
masters who were there to teach ; and in his own way he
learned his lesson quite as well as most of his more famous
successors. It would perhaps not be quite fair to charge his
Persian instructors with entire responsibility for all the gems
of rhetoric that glitter in his verses, seeing that according
to no less an authority than Mir ^Ali Shir, ^ it is becoming
to employ the tejni's or 'homonym' in the tuyugh, ■ — a
statement which seems to point to a native and inborn
yearning after such pretty playthings. Burhan is indeed the
first West-Turkish poet to pay serious attention to the art
that is called Bedi^ Homonyms of many varieties, prominent
among which is the favourite merfii or 'repaired,' meet us
at every turn ; while of course the popular arrangement of
an internal sub-rhyme is well to the fore.

Daring and original as Burhan-ud-Din shows himself in his
attempt to write West-Turkish lyrics in both the Persian
and the East-Turkish styles, he proves himself no less so
in his choice of subject. He is, as we have hinted, the first
of the Western Turks to break away from the religious
circle — be it mystic or philosophic — in which all the poetry
of his people has hitherto revolved. Burhan is before all else
a love-poet," the first love-poet of Turkish Asia Minor. 'He
busied himself with listening to instruments of music and
with drinking things forbidden,' says '^Ayni; but if the verses
do at all reflect the singer, the delights of love must have
claimed quite as much of his attention. Though from time

1 Mir '^Ali Shi'r-i Newa^i, the famous East-Turkish poet and man of letters
of the fifteenth century who has been mentioned ou p. 127.

213

to time the mystic note is discernible, this comes faintly,
as it were an echo from without; the true voice of the
poet is heard in the praises of his mistress, glorying in the
joy oi' her presence, wailing in the desolation of her absence.
To speak authoritatively concerning the literary side of
Burhan-ud-l)in's work would demand a careful study of his
dialect as well as a more intimate acquaintance with the
bulk of his poetry than I have had time to acquire. It is,
however, clear that his conception of poetry was quite
different from that of such men as Veled and ^Ashiq. To
these verse was a vehicle — the most suitable and convenient

they knew for the exposition of their theory of existence ;

to Burhcin it was before aught else an art, a field for the
exercise of his wit and ingenuity. In direct opposition to
his predecessors, he delighted in adorning his lines with all
he knew of grace and fantasy; and in so far he, rather
than any of them, is the true herald of the great army that
is to come. That he had a genuine love of his art is self-
evident; otherwise he never could have found leisure amid
the cares and excitements of his busy and eventful life to
produce so great a quantity of verse. This fecundity is the
more remarkable in that he had no similar Turkish work
behind him. The verse of his mystic i)redecessors was not
of a nature to help here; such models as he had must have
been exclusively Persian. I lis poems may have little to com-
mend them on the score of actual accomplishment, but
surely it is no mean achievement for a man who had to
hold by the sword from hour to hour the kingdom he had
created for him.self, to have caught something of the spirit
and the art of a foreign poetry and to have embodied this
for the first time in an almost uncultivated language. '

• \q essay on the British Museum .\I.S. of Cadi Buihan-ud-Din's Diwan,
along with the text and a Irinslation of the twenty rubd^is and of twelve of

214

In the following translations it has been possible to suggest
some of the homonyms and other figures that form so pro-
minent a feature of Burhan-ud-Din's verses; many, however,
have had to be passed over unnoticed. The enormous differ-
ence between these verses and everything that has gone
before will be apparent at once even through the veil of
translation.

Ghazel. [13]

Thy ruby lips ' unto the sugar-bale 2 have wroughten bale,
And made this parrot-heart ^ of mine in melody to wail.

I flung my heart, ah, woe is me, upon her heart's pathway;
To save the vial cast against the stone, whate'er may vail?*

She bent her eyebrow-bow and notched the arrow of her eye;^
It seemeth then she would yon Turks f' unto this battle '^ hail.

the tuyughs, was published in 1895 by a Russian scholar, M. Melioranski; but
as this gentleman elected to write entirely in the Russian language, his work
is of little use outside his own country.

1 The 'ruby lips' — often contracted to 'the rubies' — of a beauty is a
common-place of Persian and old Turkish poetry.

2 The ' sugar-bale ' typifies sweetness.

3 The 'Parrot' is often mentioned by the poets, but not, as with us, to
typify ignorant repetition; what the Easterns associate with this bird is,
firstly, its faculty of learning human speech, and, secondly, the beauty of its
plumage. When Burhan speaks of his 'parrot-heart' he means to imply that
his heart has been taught to speak or indite in verse by the charms of his
mistress.

4 The 'glass vial' represents the tender heart of the lover; the ' stone,' the
hard heart of the beauty, — when these are thrown together the former must
needs be broken. The metaphor is not unusual.

6 The 'eyebrow-bow' and the 'arrow' of the eye or glance are among the
commonest of common-places.

6 The eyes or glances of a beauty are often compared by the Persian
poets to 'Turks,' the latter being known to the Persians as people of hand-
some appearance and at the same time as bold marauders. They thus resemble
the beloved's eyes which are beautiful and yet steal the heart. Sometimes the
beloved herself is called a 'Turk,' for the same reasons. The Ottomans and
other Turkish peoples simply took over this fancy with the rest of the Per-

215

Her tresses aud her lucks do burn my soul lilcc aloes-wood, '
For this her rule with whatsoe'er she may to clutch avail.

O skinkcr, give into her hand the brimming bowl and see
The charm and seemliness she adds unto the wine vermeil. 2

Ghazel. [14]

O thou, white of chin! and O thou, black of hair!
A myriad the tangles thy dark tresses bear.

What though that the tongue of the taper be long.
Its place is the lantern through thy radiance fair. 3

sian paraphernalia, but it is not of very frequent occurrence in their verse.
Hafiz of Shiraz, the great Persian lyric poet, alludes to it in the opening
couplet of one of the best known of his ghazels : —

If yon Shirazian Turk would deign to bear this heart o' mine in hand,

I'd give unto her Indian mole Bokhara-town and Samarcand.
The phrase ' to bear so and so's heart in one's hand,' means ' to make much
of so and so,' 'to show him favours.' In the second line the beauty's mole,
which is of course black, is imagined as her Indian slave, and the poet
declares that if the lady were but kind to him, he would, in the exuberance
of his gratitude, give the cities of Bokhara and Samarcand as a 'tip' to her
black slave (her black mole).

■> The battle waged to capture lovers' hearts.

' Aloes-wood is burned for the fragrant incense-like perfume it produces.
The black locks of the beauty are like the black charcoal in the censer on
which the aloes-wood is laid to be burned. There is in this couplet a series
of untranslatable ihams or 'amphibologies;' the word "lid meaning both 'aloes-
wood' and 'lute;' qdnUn, 'rule' and 'dulcimer:' ney, 'whatsoever' and
'flute;' chenk, 'clutch' and 'harp;' but I cannot make any clear sense out
of the verse taking these words as the names of musical instruments.

2 By her reflection falling on it, or merely by her holding it, or perhaps
by the fact that it will taste sweeter when drunk in her sweet company.

3 The 'tongue' of the taper is the wick. 'To extend the tongue,' is a
phrase meaning ' to be talkative,' generally, in a bad sense. The idea in the
verse is that though the taper or candle (one of the conventional symbols for

, . ,, J ... , ^ \ S niay burn brilliantlv wilh a long wick, ;, •

a bright and smiling beauty) { „ ,C i,„:>,,n.i!v . .ll'.uuMuk.n to iis own lusuc, " ^^

2l6

Distraught and bewildered the soul for her locks,
It maketh the nook of her eye its repair. '

Mine eyes they are Ja'^fer (yea, e'en as her lips), -
Huseyn and Hasan are the twain of them there. 2

I'll waste to a hair for her hair-waist my frame, —
The Uweys-i Qaren 3 of her path will I fare.

Ghazel. [15

How shall I live on, ah, how, afar from thee?
^ Know not I what I shall do, afar from thee.

O my Liege, from forth mine eyen pour the tears;
Poor am I, as beggar low, afar from thee.

left unheeded in the candlestick or lantern when thy far brighter radiance
shines forth, i. e. when thou gracest the banquet with thy lovely presence.

• The eye of a b°auty is conceived as i-estless, ever making assault upon
the hearts of lovers. So my soul knows no peace, — it is distraught for her
hair, yet it can fly for refuge only to her restless eye.

"> The poet here likens his eyes, stained with the tears of blood shed for
his love, to the red lips of his mistress, and to the early martyrs in their
gory raiment. Ja^fer-i Tayyar, the brother of "^Ali, died fighting for the Prophet
at Miita. Huseyn and Hasan are the sons of 'Ali and the grandsons of the
Prophet. Huseyn was slain in the famous Battle of Kerbela, while Hasan
was killed in Medina. Possibly Burhan may have had in his mind the Hadis,

O o-c ^

' Whoso dieth for Love, verily he dieth a martyr,' O'-'^^JI q—^ oL/O q./0
lc\A.g..w c:jL/fl lAiis There is further an iham or amphibology in the word

ja^fer, which besides being a proper name, means 'a stream,' to which the
poet may aptly compare his weeping eyes.

3 Uweys-i Qareni (or Qaren), i. e. Uweys of the tribe of Qaren, a famous
saint of the early days of Islam, was a native of Yemen. Though contemporary
with the Prophet, he never saw him; but having heard that he had lost one
of his teeth, and not knowing which, he broke all his own to make sure
that the same one was gone. He was killed in battle in 37 (658), fighting
alongside of '^Ali, the Prophet's son-in-law, against the usurper Mu^awiya.
Burhan's idea is that he will waste his own body till it becomes very thin
and so resembles his beloved's waist, in like manner as Uweys-i Qaren knocked
out his own teeth in order to resemble the Prophet whom he loved.

2 17

Thou wouUisl have my heart, I give my life instead;
Hard I'd hurt my heart all through, afar from thee.

Sad and woeful for each hair that thou dost wear;
To a hair I'd wear me too, afar from thee.

Lo, my eyes have entered my heart's blood, alack!
Fain of my eyes' blood I go, afar from thee. '

To thy life my life is joined, O beauty bright.
Like unto a veil I show, afar from thee. '^

Far from thee, ah, far from thee, 1 burn alway ;
Think not I a'n heedless, no, afar from thee.

Ghazel. [i6]

See how yon dearest one again on us a ruse hath played, —

To turn our tears to blood ^ she hath her cheek with rouge o'erlaid. •*

Since 1 have seen that mouth of hers my life hath been a doubt; ^
Since she hath shown that waist of hers she 's turned me to a shade. •"■

' The old idea was that tears are really blood which undergoes a process
of distillation and so is turned into water; but as there is only a limited
store of this water, if one weep much it is exhausted, and pure, undistilled
blood comes from the eyes in its place. Thus to weep 'tears of blood' is
a very common expression meaning to weep long and bitterly.

Burhan would suggest in this verse that he has wept away all his stock of
tears of water, and that his heart has been melted for stress of love and
become blood, which blood is now issuing in tears from his eyes.

* i. e. my soul is joined to thy soul though my separate personality is
interposed between us.

' 'Tears of blood,' see above, n. i.

* i. e. she has adorned herself so as to increase the stress of our desire.
There is further a suggested association between the redness of the cosmetic
with which she has painted her face and the redness of the tears of blood
we are to shed through our passionate yearning therefor.

* Smallness of mouth is one of the charms of the conventional beauty;
this is sometimes exaggerated so that the fair one's mouth is called an atom
or monad Qevher-i ferd, see p. 67, n. i.) The analogy in the present line is
between the smallness (as it were to vanishing point) of the beloved's mouth
and the unsubstantiality (as it were even to the immateriality of a doubt) to

2l8

Her eyes my soul subduing, her ears my heart undoing,
Her words as honey flowing, my reason dumb have made.

Her absence I can bear not, her union I may share not, —
Yon Idol's ' 'fore whose face doth plenilune to crescent fade.

God's grace that beauty is which she to us unlawful makes 5
How is it lawful for her eyne her lover's blood to shed? 2

A wand'ring vagrant is the wind since playing in her hair;
Not all ungrounded are the tales that thereanent are spread.

For all that at the fire of love of her she broiled the soul.
The moisture of her lip as cooling water she purveyed. 3

Ghazel. [17]

Is not her love the soul within this lifeless frame of me?
And yet, and yet, is not the heart sore smitten by her e'e?

My heart hath girt it round with love of her upon her path;
Will not the door whereat with love one knocketh opened be?*

which yearning for this has worn the lover. Or yearning for her mouth,
which is so small that its existence is doubtful, has so preyed upon my life
that its existence has become doubtful likewise.

^ Slenderness of waist is another of the conventional points iu a beauty.
The analogy here parallels that in the preceding line; it is between the
slightness of her waist and the slightness of the measure of life to which
desire therefor has reduced the lover.

' The beloved is often called an ' Idol ' as being the object of the lover's
adoration. There was moreover an idea, perhaps derived from the images and
pictures in Christian cliurchcs, that an idol was a thing of beauty.

2 Her beauty is the grace of God, and being the grace of God, is lawful
for all; yet by denying it to us she acts as though the grace of God were
unlawful for us. Since she is so scrupulous as to make unlawful what is
really lawful, how can she hold it lawful to shed blood, an action which is
wholly unlawful?

3 i. e. she tempered her rigour with some kindness.

* As says the Arabic hemistich which has passed into a proverb ; —

' And whoso knocketh at the door of the generous, it will be opened (unto him).'

219

No riddle deem ihou that the which her eyelashes have wrought ;
Construed within tlie heart is not their cruel tyranny?

Though Noah reached his thousandth year, a thousand years it took 5
Hath not the twinkling of an eye vouchsafed this age to me ? -

The Lover and the One Belov'd are one through fire of Love ;
Is not the Lauder the Belauded tlicn in verity:

Ghazel. [i8]

0 fairest one! O fairest one! O fairest!

Thy words the Stream of Life, ^ thy love the clearest.

1 drunken am, and save thy ruby liplets

Is none may heal the ill they've wroughten, dearest. *

Oh what shall we? — thy tresses rest them never!
What do with these that rest not, fluttering rarest?

Behind us let us cast what nothing boots us ,
And let us hale the thing that boots us nearest.

Here are a few of the ruba'^is, which arc interesting as
being, as we have said, probably the earhest Turkish expe-
riments in this form.

' In the Koran, xix, 13, we read, 'And we sent Noah to his people, and
he dwelt among them for a thousand years save fifty years; and the deluge
overtook them while they were unjust.'

- The poet here means to say that while it took Noah a thousand years
to attain the age of a thousand, he himself has gained all the knowledge,
experience and pleasure that would be won in a life of that length in the

twinkling of an eye, i. e. i |" °"'=. «',""" "'" ')•= ''«='°^'-'>'=* «=>-^
° •' " / in a single moment.

3 The legendary Stream or Fountain of Life, references to which are of
constant occurrence, has already been mentioned, p. 172, n. i. The mouth of
the beloved is often compared to this Fountain, and the words issuing thence
to the Water of Life that flows therefrom.

* Love of her ruby lips has made him drunk or beside himself, so it is
their kiss alone that can cure him.

220

Ruba^i. [19]

I said: That I Ihy lip shall drain, may it be?
To this my pain, assain or bane may it be?

To union winning not, 1 am fallen far off;
In dreams that I thy lip shall drain, may it be?

Ruba'i. [20]

What hurt were I made glad Ijy union with thee ?
And should I win not, what lack wouldst thou see ?

Wound would I my heart, yea, to shreds it tear.
Knew I thy ruby lip the salve therefor would be.

Ruba'i. [21]

Again for yon Teyli is my heart Mejmin-wode, '
Again for yon dearling are my tears Jeyhun-flood. 2

May it be that her lips have torn this heart of mine? —
I looked, and behold, betwixen them was there blood ! 3

Ruba'^i. [22]

Said I: Tliy lip! Said she: How sweet he speaks!
Said I: Thy waist! Said she: How neat he speaks!
Said I: My Soul, be all a ransom for thy locks!
Said she: This lack-all! of his wealth how feat he speaks!*

1 Mejnun and his beloved Leyli arc the Romeo and Juliet of Eastern
romance and poetry; we shall learn their history in detail later on.

2 The Jeyhun is the River Oxus.

3 This is an instance of the figure Husn-i Ta'lil, see p. 113. The poet
here suggests that the moisture and redness of his beloved's lips are due to
the blood of his heart which they have wounded.

* His speech is '•sweet' because it is of her lip which is sweetness itself;
it is 'neat' because it is of her waist which is so slight and dainty. The
last line is sarcastic: 'this poor lover who has naught speaks yet of giving
all things as a ransom for my hair.'

221

Riiba^'. [23]

Said she: Why thine eyen weeping fain do I seer
And why thy heart full of pain do I see?
Said I: O Idol, 'tis for this, that thy lip
I see not always, but only now and then do I see !

Ruba'i. [24]

Thy lips for my soul the cure or bane do I see?

Thine eyes' wound ' the salve my heart to assain do I see:

Love's fire, the which doth burn up Either World, 2
Weak for my heart alone and vain do I see. '

Riibci^'. [25]

The heart for thine eyes to fragments torn must be;
The soul in thy locks distraught and lorn must be.

For him who is hapless in thy hair, the balm,
O Idol, from thy liplet born must be.

Riiba^'. [26]

Ufa for your Loved give ! ye who Lovers be !

Who seeks a Love nor gives his life, — a child is he !

Though all the world be gathered on the Judgment-plain,
To me 'twill be a void so I but win to thee!

' i. e. the wound dealt by thine eyes, — this is really a salve to my heart.

2 ' Either World," the Mere and the Hereafter, the Worlds Spiritual and
Material, Real and Phenomenal; the various significations are generally
resent together in the mind when the poets use the phrase.

' i. e. of all phenomena the heart alone can bear the mighty burden and
stress of Love.

222

Tuyugh. ' [27]

That which God, or yet time was, hath writ, shall be ;
Whatsoe'er the eye 's to see, 'twill surely see.

Refuge take we in The Truth in Either World;
What is Tokhtamish '- or Halt Timur^ to me r

Tuyugh. [28]

Thanks to God, 'tis now of heroes bold the day ;
All the world doth view the age with sore affray.

From the land where sinks the sun to where it springs
Flies within one breath the man of Love ■* straightway.

Tuyugh. [29]

That on earth I have no share, full well I know.
Ah, from no one but my dearling comes my woe.
Hope is leader still in Either World, for sooth
Other store than that there is not here below.

Tuyugh. [30]

Beauties like to thee within the world are few;
' Coquetry ' thine air the which I held for ' True.' ^

' The eight Tuyughs translated here are among those printed by M. Me-
lioranski whose selection is as good and representative as any other that
might be made.

2 Tokhtamish is Burhan's form of Toqtamish, the name of the last of the
Qipchaq Khans. This famous Prince, among whose exploits was the sack of
Moscow, was eventually overthrown by Timur. He died, according to Sir
H. Howorth's 'History of the Mongols' in 1406, according to Sami Bey in

799 (1396-7)-

3 'Halt Timur;' the great conqueror walked with a limp, the result of an
arrow-wound, whence the Persians call him Timur-i Eeng or ' Timur the Lame,'
which is the original of our corrupt forms Tamerlane and Tamburlaine.

* ' The man of Love,' i. e. the mystic lover.

5 Shehnaz i.e. 'Coquetry,' and Rast i.e. 'True,' arc the names of two of

223

I'or the partridge-hearts there is no hawk on earth
Save thy falcon-cyne that fierce and swift pursue.

Tiiyugh. [31]

Pity 'twere if aught hid in the heart remain ; '
Life and Death do still the self-same beaker drain.

At the wild carouse of earth is Either World
By the man of Love as but one goblet ta'en.

Tiiyugh. [32]

All our works and deeds before The Truth are known,
All the lawful and unlawful we have done.

O cupbearer, give to us the brimming bowl,
That the stain of rust 2 from off our heart be gone.

Tuyugh. [33]

Youthful charmer like to thee I ne'er did see ;
Let the soul, the world, be sacrifice for thee.

Did there reach us of thy grace one single drop,
'Fore that drop a myriad seas one drop would be.

Tuyugh. [34]

With that dearling we've made merry all the night.
With that roguish fair whose riever glances smite.

the Oriental musical notes and also of two well-known melodies 5 they are
used here amphibologically, the literal and technical senses both being kept
in view.

' This probably means that it were a matter for regret should any ill-
feeling against another be harboured in the heart, life being so uncertain
and the world so small a thing.

2 'Rust' is constantly used figuratively for sorrow, the idea being that
sorrow eats into the heart, which is compared to a mirror, as rust does into
the metal mirrors that were used in those days.

224

Come then, up, and let us do by her anon
What we never yet have done by any wight !

Tuyugh. [35]

Still the lover's heart doth burn and burn alway ;
Still the stranger's eyes are weeping weeping aye.

Longs the devotee for prayer and prayer-niche; '
He who is a man, he craves the field of fray.

1 The mihrab or prayer-niche in a mosque indicates the direction of Mekka
whither the faithful turn when worshipping. It corresponds in a manner to
the altar in a Christian church.

CHAPTER III.
The First Ottoman Poets.

Ahmed. N i y a z i. S u 1 c y m a n C h e 1 e b i.

So far not one of the poets whose acquaintance we have
made has been an Ottoman Turk. Several have been of
Persian extraction, while all those of Turkish race have been
born outside the limits of the Osmanic State. It would seem
that until the days of Bayezid the Thunderbolt, who reigned
from 792 (1390) ' to 805 (1403), there were practically no
poets within the Ottoman borders. ^Ali finds a reason for
this in the fact that almost all the subjects of the earliest
Sultans were either rude Turkish or Tartar warriors or else
the children of recent converts from Christianity, none of
whom possessed so much as the taste for poetry, far less
the culture needful to produce it.

1 Many authorities place the accession of Bayezid I in 791 (1389): but
the late Ghdlib Edhem Bey, the learned and accomplished author of the
Taqwim-i MeskUkat-i "^Osmaniya (Essai de Numismatique Ottomane) and other
valuable works, who went carefully into the question, came to the conclusion
that the true date is 792 (1390).

Before turning our attention to the two poets who are
mentioned as having hved under Bayezid, we must glance
for a moment at a dim form that looms scarce discernible
through the thick mists of antiquity and oblivion.

Utterly ignoring all the writers mentioned in the preceding
chapters (possibly because they were not Ottoman subjects)
"^Ashiq Chelebi, in the Introduction to his Tezkire, declares
that there was no Turkish poetry in Rum during the reigns
of ^Osman and Orkhan. • But, he says, there arose in the
time of the third sultan, Murad I, who reigned from 761
(1359) to 792 (1390), a certain Ahmed who wrote in the
metre of the Shah-Name ^ a romantic mesnevi which he
called Suheyl u Nev-Bahar or ' Canopus and Vere.' This
book, to which or to the author of which I have seen no
other reference, was, "^Ashiq tells us, even in his time ex-
tremely rare. He had, however, seen a copy in his youth,
and is thus able to inform his readers that although the
author translated from the Persian, he is not without some
original ideas of his own, and that his phraseology is, accor-
ding to the wont of his time, painfully 'Turkish.' So fasci-
nated was ""Ashiq by the Persian culture of his own day
that this quality of being Turkish is in his eyes a grievous

' We have seen that "^Ashiq enters Yiinus Imre in his proper place in his
Tezkire, but without mentioning any date. Probably, like "^Ali later on, he
was content to let matters rest as they had been left by Tash-kopri-zade,
who, as we know, placed Yiinus among the men of Sultan Bayezid's time.

2 The most popular of the Mutaqarib forms :

w I yj I >^ I v^ — II w I v^ I w I w —

227

blemish, a species of barbarism, such as our eighteenth century
writers, moved by a similar spirit, would have called Gothic-
ism; and, indeed, it is to the presence of this that he
attributes the neglect into which the old poem had fallen.
'Belike,' he says, 'for that it had no face to show itself to
the folk, its station is behind the curtain; for it is not that
its face is veiled by reason of beauty and comeliness.'

*^Ashiq quotes one couplet, descriptive of night, from this
earliest of West-Turkish metrical romances. '

' It is this: —

The true sense of the first line of this couplet is not determinable owiuy to
the absence of the context : the following rendering is merely conjectural : —

His (her, its, their) enemy (harm) must exist (arrive); watch that moment, —

On the emerald sea this golden ship.

The second line seems to refer to the crescent moon in the evening sky.
This quotation shows that, as we should have expected, the Turkish prosodial
system prevailed in this poem.

Of the twQ' poets, Niyazi and Suleyman, who flourished
under Sultan Bayezid, the first is a scarcely more substantial
figure than the shadowy singer of ' Canopus and Vere.'

Lati'fi, the earliest of our authorities, makes this old poet
a native of Brusa; in this he is followed by "^Ali and Riyazi,
the former of whom, however, mentions a report that Niyazi
was by origin a Qaraman Turk, while Hasan Chelebi declares
him to have come from Seres in Rumelia. This question of
his birthplace is the only point in Niyazi's biography touched
on by the chroniclers, and here, as we see, they are sufficiently
at variance. For the rest, they confine themselves to saying
that the poet left a complete Diwan of Turkish and Persian
qasidas and ghazels which he dedicated to Bayezid the
Thunderbolt, in whose praise most of his verses were written,

Niyazi was the earliest Ottoman lyric writer, the fore-runner,
as ^Ali says, of 'the ancient poets' Ahmedi and Sheykhi; and
although his works have long since disappeared, it would
seem that he was not without influence on the development
of Turkish poetry. Thus Latifi tells us, and his statement
is endorsed by Hasan and ^Ali, that most of the qasidas of
Ahmed Pasha, the first great Ottoman lyric poet and the inau-
gurator of the Second Period, are naziras or ' parallels ' to
poems of Niyazi's. Latifi particularises four of the Pasha's
best-known qasidas v/hich he says were thus suggested by
poems of this early precursor; ' and he further declares that

' Those having for redif the words, La"^! or ' Ruby,' Aftab or '■ Sun,' Shikar
or 'Chase,' and AIj or 'Water;' this statement of Latifi's is reproduced by
Hasan and "^Ali.

229

the most famous of all Ahmed's works, namely the qasida
descriptive of the Palace of Sultan Mehemmed the Conqueror,
was modelled verse for verse upon a highly elaborated poem
of Niyazi's that had the same rhyme and metre. '

Niyazi would thus seem to be, as Latifi maintains he is,
the introducer of the Persian artistic lyric into Rum. No
doubt Cadi Burhan-ud-Din was at least as early in the field ;
but his work is different in intention, he did not seek to
substitute in poetry Persian for Turkish canons of art; whereas
it would appear that Niyazi did, and for this reason the
literary poets of Turkey are justified in regarding him as
their true precursor.

Niyazi's Diwan, if it was ever popular, seems to have
soon fallen from general favour. Latifi, who wrote barely
a century and a half after the poet's time, says that his
book was even then very rare, and his work in consequence
forgotten among the people. Hasan Chelebi, writing forty
years later, has the same story ; he says that ' with the passing
of the seasons and the ages the words of the poet have
been forgotten and lost to mind, so that he might be described

' As an example Latifi quotes the following verse from Ahmed Pasha's
Palace Qasida : —

The fawn-heaven beheld at dawn thy lion-banner,
And at daybreak was it tail-fouled by its liver's blood.

which he says was modelled on this couplet from Niydzi's poem : —

The fawn-heaven is safe from the leopard-sphere

Since it hath made the shadow of thy lion-banner its refuge.

230

with the description: He is not a thing that is mentioned.' '
■^Ah^'s assertion that the Diwan was lost in the confusion
caused by Timur's invasion is less probable than the state-
ment of the earlier authorities that it disappeared through
neglect. If "^Ali's story were true, Ahmed Pasha could not
have made use of the Diwan, seeing that his poems were
not written till half a century after the cataclysm at Angora.
Latifi quotes two couplets from an Arabic-Persian mulemma*^
qasida of Niyazi's in praise of Sultan Bayezid, the Turkish
distich quoted in the note on page 229, and this other couplet,
also in Turkish: —

From out thy tresses' night, O love, the sun may rise on me, 2
If true indeed the ancient saying ' night is pregnant ' ' be. *

The couplet just translated is quoted also by Hasan, "^Ali

and Beligh, the last two of whom have this verse in addition :

What warders were her eyebrows for the garden of her grace ? ^
For they've taken two marauders, yet they fondly these embrace ! "

1 A quotation from the Koran, Ixxvi, i. 'Cometh there not on man a
moment in time when he is not a thing that is mentioned?'

2 i. e. thy sun-bright face may shine on me from out thy night-black hair,
i. e. thou mayest some day vouchsafe to me thy favours.

-05 ? . o« -

3 J^^^ iJuJlj' '■ night is pregnant,' i. e. we knew not what the morrow
may bring forth, is a famous Arabic proverb often quoted by the poets. It
sometimes appears in the Turkish form ».jS J«..S^xj . In Turkish idiom ' the

sun shall rise' is 'the sun shall be born;' hence the congruity of the quoted
proverb.

, ^.Lx;> &.lxJU' «..A..^j .-5' \_«,M_j' ^^9.^\'S

5 There is an untranslatable amphibology in this line, the word hajib meaning
both ' warder ' and ' eyebrow.'

" The ' garden of her grace ' is her fair face ; the ' marauders ' are her eyes
which the \ ^.febr'jlws instead of casting into prison, have taken to their embrace.
The Turkish is : —

231

In these few stray lines we see all of Niyazi's work that has
come down to us. '

' 'Ashiq omits Niydzi altogether. Riydzi, who wrote as late as the beginning
of the seventeenth century, would have us believe that Niyazi flourished, not
under Bayezid I, but under Bayezid II who reigned from 886 (1481) to 918
(15 1 2). He says that he has seen NiyazCs Diwdn, and that most of the qasidas
are parallels to poems of .Vhmed Pasha — thus reversing the statement of
the earlier writers. In a martjinal note to my MS. of Riyazi's Tezkire it is
said that Niyazi declares in one of his qasidas that he is writing it as a
parallel to one of Ahmed's, that in some of his poems he mentions the Sultan
as Bayezid the son of Mehemmed (which would of course indicate Bayezid II),
and that he died in 900 (1494-5). It is further said that Hasan Chelebi fell
into error through copying Latiff. The origin of the error is pronounced to
be the fact that the Sultan is called Yildirim Bayezid (i. e. Bayezid the Thun-
derbolt) in some of the qasidas; but 'Yildirim' the writer declares was the
original style of Bayezid II (as well as the surname of Bayezid I), in proof
of which very dubious assertion he cites this line which he says comes from
the Silsilet-uz-Zeheb of the Persian poet Jdmi : —

' Bayezid Ildirim the King of the Age.'
The probability is that Riyazi has confounded the earlier Niyazi with a poet
named Ilyas of Gallipoli who also used the makhlas of Niyazi, and who, as
"^Ali, who had seen his Diwan, points out in his notices of the poets of
Bayezid Il's time, wrote verses in praise of Sultan Bdyezid the son of Mehemmed
(i. e. Bayezid II).

Beligh, who wrote more than a century later than Riyazi, professes to give
some particulars concerning Niyazi's life; but as he gives no authority for
his statements, they can hardly be taken seriously.

Very different is the fate that has attended the labours
of Suleyman Chelebi, ' the other of the two poets who hved
under Bayezid.

This writer, who is called Suleyman-i Bursevi, that is,
Suleyman the Brusan or native of Brusa, is the earliest strictly
Ottoman poet whose work is in our hands. Of his life we
have few details ; the facts that he was a disciple of the
famous teacher Emir Sultan ; '^ that he served as Imam or
Precentor of the Divan to Bayezid the Thunderbolt, and that
he became, after the death of that monarch. Imam of the
great mosque which the latter had built in Brusa, represent
the sum of our knowledge concerning his career. ^ The date
of his death is unrecorded ; but it must have been later
than 805 (1403), the year of that of Bayezid whom we are
told he survived.

Suleyman's poem is what is called a Mevlid-i Nebi ^ or
Hymn on the Prophet's Nativity. The biographers relate a
strange story concerning the circumstances which led to this
poem's being written. This story differs somewhat as told by

1 Often called Suleyman Dede.

2 Mehemmed Shems-ud-Di'n, surnamed Emir Sultdn, an illustrious sheykh
of the Khalveti dervish-order, was a native of Bokhara whence he migrated
to Brusa, where he settled and taught. He was greatly esteemed by Bayezid
the Thunderbolt who gave him his daughter in marriage. His death took
place in 833 (1429-30); and his tomb, which is in Brusa, is still a favourite
place of pilgrimage.

3 Latifi makes Suleyman the elder brother of the poet "^Ata^i; but this, as
'^Ali points out, is probably erroneous, as '^Ata'i is spoken of as being a lad
in the time of Murad II.

* The word Mevlid is often written and pronounced Mevliid.

233

Latifi and '^Aii. . cording to the latter authority, whose
version seems ore probable, a popular preacher ' was

one day discoursir in Brusa on the text of the Koran which
runs, '\\'u .; : difference between any of His apostles.' ^

This he interprete :o mean that all the Prophets were equal
in degree; 'Where e,' he added, 'I esteem not Aluhammed
to be more excelie : than Jesus — on the twain be peace !'
In the excitement ] educed by this speech — for Muhammed
is of course held / orthodox Muslims to be the greatest
of the Prophet- — ileyman extemporised this verse : —

Jesus diea t, but ascended to the sky, 3
For that ht .as of yon Prophet's* company. 5

This couplet so leased the people that they entreated
the poet to underike a formal panegyric in honour of
their great Teacher Suleyman was prevailed upon, and his
famous Birthsong :a.we may conveniently render the term
Mevlid) is the re^^:!!

As told b}- „ the tale has a more legendary ring.

This biographer, wh' evidently doubted the veracity of his
own story — as he dcms prudent to wind up with the saving-
clause of the Eastern iconteur, 'on the teller be the charge!' —

1 ^Mi and Beligh men: a a report that the person in question was a
Persian merchant, not a pr.cher, as Latifi says.

2 Koran, ii, 285.

3 According to the comon Muhammedan belief, Jesus was not really
crucified, someone el? ns differ as to whom) being miraculously sub-
stituted for him at ;al moment, while he himself was carried up
to Heaven.

* Jesus, as well as the otlr pre-Muhammedan prophets — Adam, Abraham,
Moses, David and the rest f them, — is of course looked upon as Muslim ;
just as until the advc- - sus, Judaism represented the True Faith, after

which Christianity toe ..;e until Muhammed came. Judaism, Christianity

and Islam are thus but stag in the development of one religion.

This couplet occurs in .n's poem, near the beginning.

234

relates that when the preacher had announced his somewhat
liberal exposition of the text already quoted, an Arab who
happened to be present challenged his interpretation, telling
him he knew nothing of the science of exegesis, else he
would have known that the verse on which he was so ignorantly
commenting signifies merely that in the office of apostleship
there are no degrees, since were its application wider,
there would be no meaning in that other Koranic verse
which says, 'These apostles have We preferred one of them
above another.' ' But the people of Brusa, continues Latifi,
sided with their preacher, and heeded not the Arab, who
went off to the Arab lands, Egypt and Syria, whence he
returned armed with a fetwa or canonical decision granted
by the Arab '^ulema requiring that the offending preacher
should either recant or be put to death. But still the Brusans
heeded neither him nor his fetwa. Six times did the Arab
go between his own country and Brusa bringing with him
on each occasion a fresh fetwa to the same effect, but all
to no purpose. The seventh fetwa contained a threat that
if its requirements were not carried out, the Ottoman do-
minions would be laid waste (presumably by the Memluk
Sultan of Egypt and Syria). Still the Turks were not to be
cowed ; so the Arab watched his opportunity, and one day
'he fell upon the preacher before the mosque and slaugh-
tered him as a butcher doth a sheep.' It was while these
events were in progress, adds Latifi, that Suleyman composed
his Birthsong.

This tale of the Arab, which, by the way, does not seem
to have very much to do with Suleyman and his Mevlid,
is in all probability apocryphal ; yet we can perceive from
it the reputation for fanaticism which the Arabs had among

* Koran, ii, 254.

235

the Turks, a reputation for which we shall ere long see a
but too true warrant.

The poem which thus came into existence has at all times
enjoyed an extraordinary popularity. Many subsequent writers
have composed more or less similar hymns on the same
subject, but not one of these has ever succeeded in even
temporarily ousting this oldest of all from the public favour ;
and while it still lives on, recited annually in thousands of
assemblies over the length and breadth of Turkey, its rivals
have one and all passed out of sight and are now practically
forgotten. The continued popularity of Suleyman's Birthsong
is no doubt attributable in part at least to the fact that it
is the first of its class and thus had a start of all the others
whereby it was enabled to wan its way into the hearts of
the people and become indissolubly associated with many
hallowed memories before any competitor appeared upon the
scene. Its subject too was well calculated to win the public
sympathy; for this was not, as with Veled and *^Ashiq, a
transcendental philosophy appealing only to the elect; it
was the popular religion, and that in its most popular form.
For it is not merely the birth of Muhammed that the poem
celebrates, nor even that event treated as a natural occur-
rence; the Mevlid is really a versified account of the various
legends that had grown up round the simple story of the
Prophet's life; and thus it spoke directly to that feeling which
induces early communities to dwell most lovingly on the
supernatural element in the lives of their divinities and saints.

Suleyman's poem ' is written in mesnevi verse in the same
metre as Veled's Rebab-Namc and "^Ashiq's Gharib-Xame.

' Suleymdn's Mevlid-i Nebi does not appear to have been printed, but a
few extracts from it are published in the third volume of Ziya Pasha's Kha-
rabat. An abridged version is contained in the British Museum MS. (Sloane,
3033): and there are in my collection two copies, one apparently complete,
the other considerably curtailed.

236

The style is very simple, without art of any kind. All the
same the work has, in great measure on account of this, a
picturesque directness; while there is an artless charm in
the naive and childlike fashion in which the poet presents
his marvels that is absent from the more laboured and pre-
tentious productions of later years. The language, which is
very similar to that of the Gharib-Name, we may take to
be pure Ottoman Turkish, the dialect of Brusa the '^Osmanli
capital. The book would thus be the oldest specimen of
Ottoman Turkish extant and, could we have an early copy,
would be of very great philological interest. It is noteworthy
as exemplifying the gradual change that was coming over
the technique of poetry, that while they still occur from time
to time, there are far fewer instances of scansion according
to the Turkish system in the Mevlid than in any of the
earlier West-Turkish mesnevi's: the preponderance of quan-
titative over syllabic lines is at least as great here as in
the lyrics of Burhan-ud-Din.

Suleyman begins in orthodox fashion with a canto (here
called Fasl) to the praise of God, then after a brief prayer
to pious readers to repeat the Fatiha • on his behalf, he
tells how the Light or Essence of Muhammed was the first
thing which God created, '^ and how this Light shone upon
the brow of Adam and all the subsequent prophets till
Muhammed himself, in whose person having found its true
home, it will never more appear on earth. This prologue
finished, the poet begins the story of the Apostle's nativity,
detailing the signs and wonders that heralded the advent

1 It was a common practice of authors and scribes in old times to pray
the reader to repeat the Fatiha or opening chapter of the Koran on their
behalf. The Fatiha, which is very short, consisting of only seven verses,
occupies in Islam more or less the position that the Lord's Prayer does in
Christendom.

2 See p. 34.

237

of the last of the Prophets, and the rejoicings of the angels
and other citizens of Paradise. Having completed this, his
proper theme, he proceeds to give a brief account of the
miracles popularly attributed to Muhammed, such as the
well-known legend of his splitting the moon in two halves
by pointing his finger at it, the fable of his body casting
no shadow because it was pure light, and that other of
roses growing up wherever his perspiration fell. This is followed
by a somewhat more detailed description of the Mi^raj or
Ascension of the Prophet, a subject which, like the Nativity
itself, was destined to become the theme of many a sub-
sequent writer. This again is succeeded by the story of
Muhammed's last illness and death as presented in the legends;
after which the poem winds up with a prayer for forgiveness
wherein the writer mentions his own name.

It has been for centuries the custom in Turkey to chant
portions of Suleyman's Birthsong at the services both public
and private which are held on the twelfth of the First Rebi"^ '
of each year to commemorate the nativity of the Prophet.
On that day the Sultan and all his court in gala uniform
attend one of the Imperial Mosques at which the state
celebration of the festival takes place. ^ There are similar
services in other mosques for the benefit of the humbler
classes of society. It is reckoned a meritorious act for the
well-to-do to give what is called a Mevliid Jem'^iyeti or
'Birthsong Meeting' in their private houses, to which their
friends are invited. These meetings are generally held in the
afternoon or the evening; and as it is impossible to have

1 The First Rebi"^ is the third month of the Muslim lunar year. The date
generally given for the birth of Muhammed is the 20th. April, 571.

2 In fonner times this ceremony used to be held in the Mosque of Sultan
Ahmed. A full account of the ceremonial as it was performed in the eighteenth
centur)- will be found in D'Ohsson's admirable ' Tableau G6n6ral de I'Empire
Othoman.'

238

them all on the same day, they are held through several
weeks following the Prophet's birthday. When a certain verse
has been reached in the recitation of the poem a number
of servants hand round among the guests sherbet and sweet-
meats, the latter contained in small packets shaped something
like a sugar-loaf and known as sheker-kulahi or 'sugar-caps.' ^
The chanters, who are called Mevlid-kh^an or, in more every-
day language, Mevludji, are selected on account of their
sweetness of voice ; and so affecting is the manner in which
they recite the old verses that their audience is often moved
to tears.

The custom of chanting this poem at those services and
meetings is very old ; the time of its introduction is not
mentioned, but it was in full force when '^Ashiq Chelebi
wrote his Tezkire, and doubtless had been so for long before.

As has been hinted, this custom has in all probability
had much to do with the extraordinary and continued popu-
larity of Suleyman's Hymn. To this popularity the pages
of all the Ottoman biographers and critics bear ample evidence.
Latifi says that he has looked over nearly a hundred Mev-
lids, ^ but that not one among them has ever attained the
reputation and celebrity of Suleyman's, the only one which
might perhaps be worthy to be reckoned as a ' parallel ' to
it being that by the poet Hamdi. ^ '^Ashiq too declares that
although these many eloquent poets have written Mevlids,
not one of them has surpassed this blessed poem or spoiled
the market in its bazaar; while every year it is chanted in
many and many thousands of assemblies throughout the
realms of Islam. *^Ali seems deeply impressed by the abiding

' These ' sugar-caps ' are very like the pointed packets in which small
quantities of sugar or tea are sold in this country.

2 This number must be a gross exaggeration.

^ Hamdi is a distinguished poet of the fifteenth century whom we shall
meet in due course.

239

success of the Hymn : ' so he (Sulcyman Chelebi) made that
beloved book whereof the coming from the tongue of the
pen to the written page was in a fortunate hour, indeed
befell at a time free from the traces of maleficence when
the most part of the stars were together in the signs of
their exaltation, ' for that }"ear by year it is read in many
thousands of noble assemblies. And indeed he hath versified
it in touching notes, for while there are many other hymns
on the Nativity, not one of them is taken in hand or brought
under the eye ; 'tis as though he had written it by the
inspiration of the Holy Spirit.' - Katib Chelebi has the same
story; speaking of Suleyman's Hymn he says, 'and it is
this which is recited at the assemblies and gatherings in
the Turkish lands : others among the poets have versified
the subject, but none is regarded beside it, neither is any
other renowned.' In the same strain Beligh declares that as
the book has been sealed by the approval of the King of
the Prophets, never till the end of time shall the incense
of prayer for the blessed soul of the poet cease to rise from
the censers of the people's lips when at the annual assem-
blies of the Faithful is read the verse : —

Show to Suleyman the hapless of Thy grace, —

Make the Faith his fere and Heaven his dwelling-place ! 3

And, adds the historian, though there are some twenty Mev-
lids in verse and prose, none is so pathetic and affecting
as this, nor has any won the same favour and renown.

Coming down to recent times, we find Ziya Pasha in the
critical introduction which he has prefixed to his great antho-

' This imagery is of course taken from astrology.

' In Islam the ' HoLy Spirit' is a title of the Archangel Gabriel, the medium
of Divine revelation, according to the theologians.

3 ^i:^jl c>«-^- ,_$V.-J Q^J Q"^'^^^ * '"^■^'

240

logy, the Kharabat or 'Tavern,' ' corroborating to the full
the judgment of his predecessors. He speaks of Suleyman
as the imam or precentor of the poets of Riim and the
guide of the makers of verse, and says that his sacred poem
is warrant enough of his genius. The Pasha confesses his
inability to understand what such poetry may be which
renders distraught all them that hear it. Although seemingly
so artless, love and eloquence meet together in it ; from
beginning to end it is ' unapproachable simplicity.' ^ During
these four hundred years, continues the critic, none of the
learned hath said aught to equal it ; and although many
have striven to 'parallel' it, it still remains 'virgin like the
Koran.' ^

It is easy to understand the enthusiasm of the Turks for
this ancient poem which is to them all that our Christmas
hymns and carols are to us ; but to the foreign student of
their literature its chief interest must lie in the fact that it
is the earliest extant monument of indubitably Ottoman work.

I have chosen for translation those parts of the Hymn
which are usually chanted at the Mevlid Meetings. The first
of these, the opening canto of the poem, is an invocation
of God whose name it praises. This is followed by a brief
supplication to the pious readers and hearers to remember
the author in their prayers. Omitting the next canto, which
discourses on the 'Light of Muhammed,' we go on to that
which describes the birth of the Prophet and the portents
that accompanied it ; much of this section — which is the

The Kharabat or 'Tavern,' an anthology of Turkish, Persian and Arabic
poetry, compiled by Ziya Pasha, was published in three volumes, in Con-
stantinople, 1291-2 (1874-5).

2 Sehl-i Mumteni"^, which I have rendered as ' unapproachable simplicity,'
is a common term with Eastern critics to describe an expression which,
though apparently simple, is hard to parallel.

3 It is an axiom that no one ever has produced or ever shall produce a
work equal in eloquence to the Koran, — the uncreated Word of God.

241

kernel of the whole book — is put into the mouth of Amine,
Muhammed's mother. This is followed by a triumphant chorus
of greeting to the new-born Prophet, after which there is
an omission of many cantos, those describing the miracles
and death of Muhammed, till we reach the verses in which
the poet bids farewell to the Prophet now gone to his rest.
With this, the true end of the poem, the recitations usually
close, the epilogue which follows and winds up the book
beins as a rule omitted.

'C>

From the Mevlid-i Nebi or Hymn on the
Prophet's Nativity. [36]

First, the name of God the Lord let us declare;
This behoveth every servant every where.
Whosoe'er dotli first the name of God recite,
God will make for him his every business light.
Let the name of God begin each business then,
That the end thereof be sorry not and vain. '
Let the name of God with every breath be said,
In the name of God be each work finished.
If the tongue but once with love God's name do say.
All its sins will fall like autumn leaves away. *
Pure becometh he who sayeth His pure name,
Whoso saith God's name attains his every aim.
Let us from our hearts on yon Provider call.

£ - o 5 o .

' These opening lines paraphrase the Hadi's 'Aaj *.l j^J (^3 ~a' ,}S
jio' ^5 naJ' ♦^v-aJ 'Every work of import that is begun not in the name

of God is abortive.'

' The simile in this line was perhaps suggested by the story which tells
how when once the Prophet was walking with some of his Companions in
the autumn he plucked a spray of half-withered leaves which kept falling
off as the party proceeded on the road, whereupon Muhammed said, ' The
sins of him who repenteth unto God fall from him even as the leaves fall
from this spray.'

242

Yon Creator who from naught hath made us all.

Come ye and on God now let us loveful cry,

Fearful let us weep and let us sadly sigh,

That yon King His mercy fair to us accord,

Yonder Gracious, yonder Ruthful, yonder Lord.

He Omniscient, He the Pardoner of ill,

He the Builder, Placable, Forgiving still.

He the Holy One who all in safety keeps,

He the Lord Eternal who nor dies nor sleeps,

He the King whose reign shall never pass away,

He the Mateless, He the Matchless, Peerless aye.

While as yet the world was not He made it be, '

Yet of aught created ne'er a need had He.

He is One, and of His Oneness doubt is none

Though that many err whene'er they speak thereon.

Living He when was nor man nor angel fair.

Heaven nor earth, nor sun nor moon, nor ninefold sphere. ^

By His power creative all of these He made.

Yea, in these His might and glory He displayed.

Let us ever at His court our needs make known;

He is One, and other god than He is none.

Though such words be said till the Last Day do fall,

Fall might many a Last Day, yet unsaid were all. 3
So thou seekest from the fire to win thee free.
Say with love and fear : Be blessings unto thee ! *

Saintly ones, ^ we here begin another speech ;

' Alluding to the Hadis I— ^-^^ i»3W ^^J [*J 5 *Jj' im^^ ' God was and

there was naught beside Him,' which the orthodox quote against those phi-
losophers who maintain the eternity of matter.

2 i. e. the Nine Spheres of the Ptolemaic system. See pp. 43-4.

■^ The idea is that the praises of God could not be wholly expressed even
in many times the life-time of the world.

* At the Mevlud Meetings whenever the chanter recites this couplet, which
recurs from time to time, he pauses, when all the assembly say by way of
response : Es-salatu we-s-selam '^aleyke, ya Resul-uUah ! es-saldtu we-s-selam
"^aleyke yd Habib-ullah ! ' Blessing and greeting upon thee, O Apostle of
God! Blessing and greeting upon thee, O Beloved of God!' The giving of
this response is called salawat getirmek.

5 Here the readers or hearers are addressed.

243

Unto you a testament we leave, to each.
Whosoe'er observes the testament I say,
Musk-like in his heart its scent will bide for aye.
May the Lord God give to him His ruth to share, ■
Yea, to him who breatheth for my soul a prayer.
He who in this blessing lot and part would have.
Let him say the Fatiha for me his slave.

[37|

Lady Amine, Muhammed's mother she,
(From this Shell it was yon Pearl did come to be.)
When Muhammed's time to come was near at hand,
Ere he came were many signs seen through the land.
Now by "^Abd-ulldh his sire had she conceived.
And the passing weeks and days the term achieved.
In the night whereon was born that Best of Men '
Many a marvel passed before his mother's ken.
On the twelfth 'twas of the First Rebf'' it fell,
On a Monday night it tided, wot ye well!
Quoth the mother of that God-belov6d one, 2
' I beheld a Light whose moth was e'en the sun.
' Sudden from my dwelling flashed the lightning forth,
' Mounted to the skies and lumined all the earth.
' Rank on rank the angels winged from Heaven their way,
'Round my house, as 'twere the Ka'^ba, circled they. 3
' Quoth they, " Now that Prophet of most high degree
' " Cometh, Master of the Holy House is he ! "
' Straightway in the sky was spread a couch full fair,
'Sendal was its name, 'twas angels spread it there.
'Oped the heavens, and the mirk was done away;
' Forth came angels three with flags in bright array ;

' Khayr-ul-Besher or Khayr-ul-Endm, i.e. 'Best of Mankind,' is a frequent
title of Muhammed.

Habib-uUah, i.e. 'Beloved of God,' is the special title of Muhammed.

The circumambulation of the Ka'ba forms an important rite in the Hajj
or Mekka-pilgrimage.

244

'^One thereof they planted o'er the East to stream,

' One thereof they planted o'er the West to gleam,

'O'er the Ka'^ba planted they the third with awe,

' Passing great the reverence and humblesse I saw.

' When these mighty portents round about me shone,

'Uazed and wildered I abode there all alone.

' Clave the wall, and issuing forth on sudden wise

' Houris three stood visible before my eyes.

' Then from these I knew that Prince of all mankind

' Soon should come his place upon the earth to find.

'Graciously those beauties moon-browed near me drew,

' Straightway greeting me on courteous wise and true ;

' With all reverence and grace they greeted me,

' And they spake some words right sweet and courteously.

'And they came and sate them round about me then,

'Wishing one the other joy of him full fain.

' " Never any son like to thy son," said they,

'"Unto earth hath come since the Creation-day;

' " Never any son in glory like to thine

' " Was to mother granted by the Lord Divine.

'"Born of thee this night shall be that Mustafa; •

' " Unto all a boon shall be that Mustafa.

' " O thou dear one, thou hast won to mighty bliss ;

' " Born of thee shall be the Flower of all that is.

' " All the Saints would yield their lives to meet this night,

' " All the Saints would fain be slaves to greet this night.

' " He who cometh is the King of Heavenly Lore,

' " He who cometh is of Wisdom High the Store.

' " For the love of him who cometh turns the sky ; 2

' " Yearning for his face do men and angels sigh.

' " He who cometh is that King, the Prophets' Seal, ^

' Mustafa i.e. 'Elect,' the second name of the Prophet.

2 An allusion to the phrase mentioned on page 34 : ' But for thee, verily
1 had not created the heavens!'

s 'Seal of the Prophets' is another of Muhammed's special titles, he coming
last in the series of the Prophets and confirming his predecessors even as
the seal comes at the end of the letter or document and ratifies what goes
before.

245

" He, that ' Mercy to the Worlds,' ' Creation's Weal.

" God the Living, Lord of Glore, hath made decree

" That this night creation all perfection see ;

" Houris, Bowers, Gardens, yea, all Paradise,

" All the Garth of Rizwan, * shine on glorious wise.

" There above they celebrate this blessed night,

" Paradise with gems and jewels have they dight.

" Houris, Youths of Heaven, 3 and every living thing

" Fain will scatter gems and jewels o'er that King.

"Yea, and more, hath God commanded Gabriel:

" — Make thou fast, O Gabriel, the gates of hell ! — ♦

" For this night the Mercy of the Lord shall be,

" Past the Awfulness is from His majesty.

"Ay, this night is e'en the night when through his Light

" Yonder blessed one shall make earth fair and bright.

" This the night of yonder King, the Prophet's Seal,

" Him, the ' Mercy to the worlds,' Creation's Weal.

" He this night the world as Paradise hath made ;

" God this night to all things hath His Ruth displayed.

"On this night are birds and beasts and men and jinn, 5

" Whate'er is, revealed and hid, each living thing,

" One and all a-dancing of their joyance fain

"For that comes the Ruth of God, the Best of Men!"

In this fashion did they celebrate his praise,

And the glory of yon Blessed Light upraise.'

Amine saith, 'When was fully come the tide
'When that Best of Men should come on earth to bide,
' Passing sore a thirst came o'er me through the heat,
' Then they gave to me a cup of sherbet sweet ;

' A quotation from Koran, xxi, 107, where God addressing Muhammed,
says, ' We have sent thee only as a mercy to the worlds.'

* Rizwan, i. e. Goodwill, is the name of the angel-warden or treasurer of
Paradise, see p. 37.

' The ghilman or youths of Paradise, see p. 37.

* That none on this blessed night may enter the abode of woe.

* The jinn are the 'genii,' the spirits or demons of earth and air, to whom,
as well as to mankind, Muhammed's mission was addressed.

246

' Whiter 'twas than snow, and colder, saintly one, '
'Sweetest sugar's sweetness was by it outdone.
' Straight I drank it, all my frame was whelmed in light,
'Nor knew I myself from that effulgence bright;
' When that gleaming Glory had enwrapped me round,
' Heart and soul of me a wondrous joyance found.
' Came a White Bird borne upon his wings straightway,
' And with virtue stroked my back as there I lay. 2
' Then was born the Sultan of the Faith that stound,
' Earth and heaven shone in radious glory drowned.'
So thou seekest from the fire to win thee free.
Say with love and fear : Be blessings unto thee !

Cilad rejoiced creation in delight and mirth,
Grief departed and new life filled all the earth.
Every atom in the world took up the tale,
Cried they all with voices high uplifted : Hail !

Hail to thee

All the world is drunken for thy love indeed !

Hail to thee
Hail to thee
Hail to thee
Hail' to thee
Hail to thee
Hail to thee
Hail to thee
Hail to thee
Hail to thee

O Sun of fulgent splendour ! Hail !
O Soul of Souls most tender ! Hail !
O Sun of all the Lover-crew !
O Moon of all the leal and true !
O Bulbul 3 of E-lestu's mead ! *

O Soul that is for ever ! Hail !

Cupbearer of the Lover! Hail!

O Nightingale of Beauty's bower !

O Loved One of the Lord of Power!

O Mercy to the Worlds — to all!

O Pleader for the folk who fall!

O Refuge of the rebel race!

O Helper of the portionless!

O King of Glore! All hail to thee!

' This ' saintly one ' is an address to the reader, awkwardly enough intro-
duced here.

2 It is when this couplet has been reached at the Mevlid Meetings that
the sherbet and sweets are brought in and handed round; these are presented
first to the chanter, then to the assembled guests.

3 The Bulbul is the Nightingale.

* For the meaning of E-lestu see pp. 22-3.

247

Hail to thee! O Mine of Lore! All hail to thee!

Hail to thee ! Epiphany of God most Grand !

Hail to thee! O Leader of the Prophet-band!

Hail to thee! Unsetting Sun! All hail to thee!

Hail to thee! L'nwaning Moon! All hail to thee!

Hail to thee! O Parrot of the world's herbere!

Wildered for thy love doth every soul appear!

Hail to thee! O Secret of the Scripture! Hail!

Hail to thee ! O Balm for every dolour ! Hail !

Hail to thee! O Coolth o' th' eyne ! ' O Intimate! 2

Hail to thee! O Most Beloved of God the Great!

Hail to thee ! O Moon ! O Sun of God, most fair !

Hail to thee ! who from the Lord art parted ne'er !

Hail to thee ! of all the fond Desire art thou !

Hail to thee ! to God most near and dear art thou !

Hail to thee! O thou of Either World the King!

Yea, for thee this universe to life did spring! ^

Thou art of Apostleship's high Throne the Seal!

Thou art of the Prophetship's bright Sun the Seal!

Thou whose day-like visage is the plenilune !

Thou who reachest hand to all the fallen down!

Even as thy Light hath all the world illumed.

Through thy rose-face hath the world a garden bloomed!

Lo, thou art the Sovran of the Prophet-host!

Light of eye to all the saints and all the just!

'Neath thy word is all the World of Spirit laid!

In thy field the man of Love hath staked his head ! *
So thou seekest from the fire to win thee free.
Say with love and fear: Be blessings unto thee!

[38]

Fare thee well! O Soul most tender! Fare thee well!
Fare thee well! O Moon of splendour! Fare thee well!

' Qurret-ul-''Ayn, ' Coolth o' th' eyne,' is a favourite term of endearment.

2 i. e. Intimate of God.

2 Another allusion to God's address to the Light of Muhammed.

* i.e. the Man of Love, the 'Lover,' is ready to die for thee.

248

Fare thee well ! O Sovran of the Lover-band !

Fare thee well ! O Lord ! O King of every land !

Fare thee well! O Nightingale of Beauty's bower!

Fare thee well! O Loved One of the Lord of Power!

Fare thee well! O Union Pearl of lustre bright!

Fare thee well ! O Motive of the Glorious Light !

Fare thee well ! O Sovereign I O Monarch mine !

Fare thee well ! O Balm for every pain and pine !
By you all from Mustafa be warning ta'en!

Ne'er an one of us, by God, shall here remain.

Howsoever long may any's life aby,

At the end this -surely is his work — to die.

Come then, and for death prepare, be ready dight.

That your faces in the Presence there be white.

From thy hand, Q Death, alack ! ah, woe is me !

Neither king nor beggar e'er may win him free.

Woe is me, from yonder Prophet parted far!

Woe is me, for yonder Leader yearning sore !

Unto all of them who happy be and wise

Death for preacher and for counsel doth suffice.
So thou seekest from the fire to win thee free,
Say with love and fear: Be blessings unto thee!

CHAPTER IV.

Riveting the Yoke.
Prince Suleyman's Poets. Ahmed-i Da'^i.

During the ninety years that elapsed between the time
when "^Osman found himself independent and the accession
of his great-grandson Bayezid I — him whom the Turks
call Yildirim Bayezid or Bayezid the Thunderbolt, — the
Ottoman Kingdom had grown considerably. Not only had
extensive territories been acquired in Europe, but in Asia
many and important districts had been wrested from the
Byzantines, and two out of the nine other Kingdoms of the
West-Turkish Decarchy had been absorbed. Of these two,
Qarasi was the first to disappear, it having been annexed
by Orkhan in 737 (1336-7); the other, Hamid, was purchased
by Murad I in jSt, (138 1-2).

Bayezid the Thunderbolt lost no time; in 792 (1390), the
very year of his accession, he annexed other five of those
little states, Aydin, Saru-Khan, Menteshe, Germiyan and
Tekke, in a single campaign. The remaining two, Qaraman
and Qizil-Ahmedli, soon followed; and thus, despite the
temporary set-back caused by Timur's invasion, the West-
Turkish Empire was re-established. In 800 (1398) a further
step was taken ; the districts of Siwas, Qaysariya, Toqat
and Erzinjan, which had formed the little kingdom of Cadi

250

Burhan-ud-Din, were incorporated ; and on the east and
south-east the Ottoman frontiers marched with the territories
of the newly sprung-up Turkman dynasties of the Black
Sheep and of the White Sheep, of the Zu-1-Qadr and the
Beni-Ramazan.

The work of building up the West-Turkish Empire was
thus in full progress when the invasion of Timur, culmin-
ating in 804 (1402) in the Battle of Angora with the defeat
and capture of Bayezid and the seeming annihilation of the
Ottoman power, threw everything in Western Asia into mo-
mentary chaos and retarded for a brief period the development
of Turkey. The dethroned kinglets of the seven little Turkish
states annexed by the Thunderbolt re-entered into more or
less short-lived possession of their own, while the Ottoman
princes, Suleyman, ^'Isa, Miisa and Mehemmed, fought furiously
with one another for what was left of their father's empire.
For eleven years the fratricidal conflict raged, till in 816
(141 3) Prince Mehemmed, thenceforward Sultan Mehemmed I
— Chelebi Sultan Mehemmed or Sultan Mehemmed the
Debonair, as his people loved to call him, — found himself
sole survivor of the four brothers and undisputed sovereign
of the Ottoman state. The empire to which Mehemmed thus
succeeded did not materially differ in extent from that which
his father had inherited quarter of a century before. The
seven little kingdoms indeed were gone, but except for
their loss the Ottoman frontiers were practically unchanged.

Timur's dash into Asia Minor was no true conquest of
the country ; it was but a raid on a grand scale ; he harried
Anatolia from end to end, and then departed to return no
more. And so the confusion which followed was only super-
ficial, no vital change was wrought; all that happened was
a certain delay in the consolidation of the West-Turkish
power.

251

But though the development of the Turkish empire was
thus arrested for a moment, the development of Turkish
poetry proceeded without check or pause. In the work pro-
duced about the time of the Tartar onslaught we find no
trace of that uncertainty as to course, that halting between
two opposing principles, which in greater degree or less has
marked all the verse written up till now. From this time
West-Turkish poetry formally renounces every exclusively
Turkish characteristic; these Turkish verse-forms which
happened to be duplicated in the Persian system are retained,
but the old syllabic prosody passes altogether away from
literary verse, not to re-appear till the rise of the Modern
School in our own day. The victory now obtained by the
Persian poetic system is complete ; not only is every detail
of this accepted and made into an integral part of the Ottoman,
but whatever is unrepresented there is resolutely refused
admittance, or if it happened to be present, is ruthlessly
cast out.

Along with this development appears another phenomenon.
Before the invasion of Timur poets had been few in Riim —
we have not been able to find a dozen in the course of a
hundred years — after that event they arise on every side.

One cannot but ask how it is that these things, the final
self-adjustment of Turkish poetry to its foreign model and
the sudden increase in the number of its practitioners, should
have occurred at the very moment when the Power which
represented the nascent nationality of the Western Turks
was reeling under the rudest blow ever dealt it in all its
long history.

"^Ali suggests as an answer to this question the influence
of certain Persian men of letters who accompanied Timur
on his campaign in Asia Minor. Like many another Oriental
prince, the Tartar conqueror was fond of the society of

252

poets and men of learning, and numerous stories are on
record concerning his interviews with the learned men of
Rum and of the good-humoured way in which he received
their sometimes not very courtier-like sallies. These Turkish
scholars would doubtless discuss their craft with the erudite
Persians in Timur's suite, and in the course of conversation
get many a hint that would profit them in their further work.
Such friendly intercourse between the followers of an invader
and the people of an invaded country may appear strange
to a modern European; but there was nothing unusual in
it. In those days nationality and patriotism, as we conceive
them, existed not in the East. Wars were waged under the
impulse of religious enthusiasm, or from sheer greed of plunder,
or the mere love of fighting, or else, as in this instance,
through the ambition of princes. Except in the first case,
nothing like personal animosity existed between the individual
combatants; and when they were not actually engaged in
fighting, they were ready enough to meet on friendly terms.

But though the impulse given to Ottoman letters by such
intercourse with accomplished Persians no doubt goes for
something, it seems hardly a sufficient explanation of the
efflorescence of full-blown literary poetry at this particular
juncture. Another partial explanation may perhaps be found
in the encouragement given to letters, and especially to
poetry, by Prince Suleyman, the eldest son of the Thun-
derbolt, and for a time the most successful of the competitors
for the throne. The court which this gallant but reckless
Prince held at Adrianople was, while it lasted, the centre
of Ottoman culture, and under the genial influence of his
appreciative patronage poetry was fostered as it had never
been before.

But it seems to me that the true answer to the question
lies in the simple fact that the time was now ripe for the

253

development that took place. That this synchronised with
the Tartar invasion was a mere accident; it would have been
accomplished all the same had Timur never crossed the
frontier. We have seen how the distinctively Turkish element
was becoming ever less and less as poet succeeded poet.
There was very little trace of the syllabic prosody in Suley-
man's Hymn; the next step would naturally be to omit it
altogether. Again, we are told that Niyazi, who wrote before
the invasion, had exactly reproduced the Persian lyric style
in his Turkish verses, and the scraps of these that we have
go to confirm the statement. '

Niyazi, moreover, did not stand alone ; the poets Ahmed-i
Da^^i, Ahmedi and Nesfmi were all contemporary with him ;
and although much of the work of these three was doubtless
produced after the Tartar raid, they were (with the possible
exception of DaS' of whom we know little) certainly writing
before that catastrophe, and most probably during the life-
time of Niyazi. ^ The complete Diwans of Ahmedi and Nesimi
are in our possession, and in these we find the Persian system
completely accepted and alone recognised. As it is unlikely
either that these poets rewrote their early lyrics in later
life or that their editors would omit their earlier works when
compiling their Diwans, I am inclined to believe that the

' Niyazi is the first Turkish poet to follow the universal Persian practice
of using a Makhlas or Pen-name. Previous and contemporary writers had
been content with their personal name or their surname; but 'Niyazi' is
neither a personal name nor a surname, but a pen-name, and one, moreover,
that has been adopted by several subsequent Ottoman poets. To choose such
and write under it was, of course, an essential part of the programme of an
author whose aim was the naturalisation of every Persian literary usage. The
practice at once became universal, and from this time forth the poets who
wrote under their personal name are in a microscopic minority.

2 The first draft at any rate of Ahmedfs Iskender-Namc was finished
in 792 (1390). Some of Nesimi's verses are said to have been recited in the
presence of Fazl-uUdh the Huriifi who was put to death by Timur in 804
(1401-2).

254

complete ascendency of the Persian system was practically
established shortly before Timur's invasion, and so was not,
as ^A\i would infer, a result of that event.

The increase in the number of poets at this point may
be accounted for by the general advance in culture made
by the Turkish people since the chaos brought about by
the Mongol invasion and the Seljuq collapse. Especially during
the reign of Bayezid was this advance remarkable. Under
that monarch Brusa became a centre of learning; and although
this for the most part took the direction of scholastic theology,
the science which above all others stood emphatically for
'learning' in medieval Islam, it prepared the ground for a
wider and more liberal culture.

For eight years after the Battle of Angora Prince Suleyman
reigned as an independent sovereign over the Ottoman terri-
tories in Europe. During this time his court at Adrianople
was, as we have said, the centre of West-Turkish culture.
That it was so in a truer sense than Brusa had yet been
was owing to the Prince's possessing a taste for literature,
and especially for poetry,, such as none of his fathers had
ever displayed. He loved to surround himself with poets ;
and it was chiefly from their ranks that he chose his boon-
companions for the wild carouses in which he delighted.
For unhappily for himself, this Prince's devotion to every
form of pleasure was at least as strong as his love of poetry.
His unbridled debauchery lost for him the respect of his
soldiers and his people ; so that at last in the hour of need
his army deserted and left him to perish miserably at the
hands of his rivals. 814 (14J1).

"^Ashiq and ^Ali give us the names of some of the poets
whom Suleyman gathered around him at Adrianople. Pro-
minent among these are the brothers Ahmedi and Hamzevi.
Ahmedi, the author of the earliest extant Ottoman romantic
poem, is so notable a figure that we leave him and his
work to be dealt with at some length in the next chapter.
His brother Hamzevi is chiefly remarkable for having collected
in twenty-four volumes the legendary history of Hamza the
uncle of the Prophet. This work was in prose freely inter-
spersed with verses; and it was by reason of it that the
author adopted his makhlas of Hamzevi. '

' 'Hamzevi' is an adjectival form of Hamza; 'Hamzan' we might say. Von

256

Another of the circle was Sheykh-oghH, of whom "^Ashiq
tells us that he wrote a poem called Ferrukh-Name or 'The
Book of Ferrukh ' (the name of the hero) * from which this
couplet is quoted : —

So came from hand what comes from heart, - 'twould e'en be
That every beggar would a king or queen be. ^

More important than either Hamzevi or Sheykh-oghli —
at least so the biographers must have deemed him as they
accord him alone of the three an entry all to himself — is
the poet Ahmed-i Da^i. Latifi, Hasan Chelebi and ""All agree
in making this writer a native of Germiyan, in which petty
kingdom, according to the last-mentioned, he had been a
cadi or judge. '^ In due time, however, he found his way to
Adrianople, where he was received into high favour by Prince
Suleyman. ''

He wrote a good deal for his Ottoman patron including
a poem called Jenk-Name or 'The Book of War,' ^ which
seems to have been a versified history of the struggle between

Hammer, I know not on what authority, gives 815 (141 2) as the date of
Hamzevi's death.

' ^Alf is mistaken in saying that '^A.shiq attributes the Ferrukh-Name to
Ahmed-i Da*"!. Katib Chelebi describes this book as 'a Turkish poem by
Sheykh-zade in the reign of Sultan Yildirim Khan.' In the printed edition of

■^Ali and in Fluegel's Katib Chelebi the name of the work is given as &xu —.S

Ferah-Name (which would mean ' The Book of Gladness'), an obvious slip for

*./«LJ ^ fi Ferrukh-Name, as will appear from what is said in Chapter IX.

Sheykh-oghli and Sheykh-zade are the same name, the first being the Turkish,
the second the Persian form for ' Sheykh-son.'

2 i. e. could the hand carry out the heart's desires.

3 j^vXJ^,' qLLI/w vy^'*^" jr^'^i * i^^.4^ o^^' cy^^ qA]j yi

* It must be by a slip that Von Hammer makes Da"^! a native of Qaraman.

5 Von Hammer, without indicating his authority, gives 815 (141 2) as the
date of Da''i's death.

6 Von Hammer, following Latifi, reads Chenk-Name or 'The Book of the
Harp ;' but Hasan Chelebi and Katib Chelebi read Jenk-Name. '^Ali confuses
Dd'^i's poem with Sheykh-oghli's, calling the former Ferah-Name, while he
says it contains much brilliant battle imagery.

257

Suleyman and his brothers. ' Another of his works was a
treatise on the branch of polite learning that is called "^Ilni-i
Teressul. This consists in the knowledge of the rules of
courtesy that must be observed in correspondence, rules
which determine with great nicety the manner in which a
person should be addressed according to his social station,
and the ways in which difterent subjects should be presented.
When Hasan and '^Ali wrote, this treatise of Da'^i's was
widely known among the people. In some manuscripts and
in the printed edition of Lati'fi it is said that Ahmed-i Da^^i
wrote further a work dealing with Persian and Arabic lexico-
graphy, which he called ^Uqiid-ul-Jewahir or 'The Strings
of Gems.'

According to Von Hammer, Sehf Bey, the earliest biogra-
pher of poets — he wrote but a few years before Lati'fi, —
says that in his time Da'^i's Di'wan was known everywhere,
copies being very common in both Rumelia and Anatolia.
Such may very well have been the case three centuries and
a half ago, but copies are sufficiently rare nowadays; at least
I have failed to discover any, and so must rest content with
repeating Latifi's somewhat superfluous remark that the ghazels
are in an 'antiquated' style. Lati'fi and Hasan quote this
couplet, than which, they both declare, there is nothing better
in the whole Di'wan : —

By Ta Ha's chapter, * O mine eye, I charge thee speak, didst e'er thou see
A worry like my Dear, a frenzied Lover like this heart of me?'

' Flucgel's edition of Katib Chelebi thus describes the Jenk-Name: 'In
Turkish, by the poet Ahmed of Germiyan and the poet Dervish, concerning
the war of Sultan Selim with his brother Bdyezid.' This last phrase obviously
should read ' the war of Sultan (i. e. Prince) Suleyman with his brothers
the sons of Bdyezid.' Sultan Selim I had no brother named Bdyezid, while
Sultan Selim 11 was never engaged in war with a brother. Who the ' poet
Dervish ' is, or what Kdtib Chelebi means by making him joint author of the
Jenk-Name, I do not know.

* The twentieth chapter of the Koran is called the Chapter of Td Ha,

258

^Ali, though he cites the above, prefers the following
ghazel, which he says he takes from Sehi Bey. In this ghazel,
the first three couplets of wliich are quoted also by Lati'fi
and Hasan, the Persian influence now supreme in poetry
appears in fullest flower. The rhyming is already intricate
to a degree beyond which no later master of the craft ever
pushed. Here, in this little poem whence every vestige of
spontaneity is banished and where artificiality is all in all,
we see forged to the last link those alien fetters which are
for ages to trammel and repress the genius of Turkey.

these being the Aral3ic names of the two letters T H which are prefixed to it.

In the printed edition of Latifi there is the following comment on this
couplet: 'The foregoing couplet was highly esteemed of Da'^i, and is the
most approved artistic distich in his Diwan. Rut it is remarkable that with
all his skill and knowledge he should have overlooked the amphibological
sense of his words and should not have perceived of how many meanings
his language is susceptible. For he saith in the second line of the above
distich, Yarim gibi fitne, 'a worry like my Dear.' The word fitne 'worry' is
in this place a curious expression, amphibologic, implying censure, and sug-
gesting a coarse word. In the common speech of the people they apply
fitne ' worry ' to a certain small dog, a kind of cur. The poets of the age
generally use this word when speaking of the rival, as in this couplet : —

Thou'st shown the rival the chief seat, and to yon worry, | .'g.'^yi' h^ist said.

Alack! alack! I am not held e'en as a dog before thy gate!'

[In this verse the word _yj»,'^ addressed by the sweetheart to the rival, has two

meanings, 'great' and 'howl:' an attempt has been made to preserve the
equivoque in the translation, by the hononyms Bey (title) and Bay (bark).

The word fitne may have been popularly applied to a dog in Latifi's time,
l)ut 1 have seen no allusion to sucli a use elsewhere, and it is unknown in
the present day.]

259

Ghazel. ' [39]

O Lunar-fashioned Sun of light! 2 thy face is Jovial in sight '.^

What light? The Ascendant light. Ami what ascendant? The ascendant bright.

Hy thy fair face ashine is earth, and by ihy life the time 's a garth !
What garth? The garth of Heaven on high. What Heaven? The Heaven of

Kevser's site. *

Thy face it is the Verse of Ruth, thy self it is of Power the Proof!
What Power? The Maker's Power forsooth. What maker? The Maker of Might.

As Solomon's the st'^ry thine, as Alexander's glory thine!

What glory? Joseph's glory sheen. 5 What Joseph? Joseph lord of right.

The chesner Sphere " thou hast outdone 5 the realm of fortune thou hast won !
What realm? The realm of luck. What luck? The luck of him who 's

Caesar ^ hight.

Untold the slaves about thy stead; the meanest is thy slave Ahmed!
What Ahmed ? Ahmed the Da^i. 8 What Da'i ? Da^i servant-wight.

' This ghazel is evidently addressed to Prince Suleymdn.

2 The Sun that combines the beauty of the Moon with his own radiance
is the Prince.

3 Jupiter was reckoned by the astrologers the most auspicious of the
planets.

* Kevser is the name of one of the rivers of Paradise, see p. 36.

* Joseph, as we shall see again and again, is the constant type of youthful
beauty with the Muslim poets.

* The Sphere, conceived as an evil power whose delight is to thwart and
baffle man (see p. 44, n. 3.), is constantly personified by the poets, sometimes
under a male, sometimes under a female form. In the present instance it is
represented as a chess-player intent on checkmating the Prince, who none
the less has beaten it and won the prize fortune.

1 Qaysar i.e. ' Cresar,' is the special title of the Emperor of Constantinople,
be he Byzantine or Ottoman.

8 The word dd*^!, which this poet Ahmed adopted as his makhlas, means
'■ one who prays for another,' a •• bedesman.'

CHAPTER V.

The Romancists.

A h ni e d 1.

The earliest romancist among the Western Turks was
probably that Ahmed whose poem Canopus and Vere was,
according to '^Ashiq Chelebi, written in the days of Murad I.
But as nothing is known of that author or his work save
from the brief and contemptuous passage in "^Ashiq's Tezkire,
Taj-ud-Din Ahmed, better known under his makhlas of
Ahmedi, the brother of Hamzevi and the panegyrist of Prince
Suleyman, is to all intents and purposes the introducer of
the metrical romance.

There is the usual uncertainty as to Ahmedi's birthplace;
Latifi and "^Ali make him a native of Siwas, but Tash-kopri-
zade, whose notice of this poet appears more reliable than
Latifi's, says that he and his brother were born in the little
kingdom of Germiyan. While yet quite young he left his
native land in order to prosecute his studies in Cairo, then
the metropolis of Arab culture ; and when there he fore-
gathered with two other young Turks, Hajji Pasha ' and

1 Hajji Pasha was a native of the petty kingdom of Aydin. After studying
and writing a good deal on scholastic subjects, he turned his attention to
medicine in consequence of an illness which he had contracted. He acquired
so great a name in this science that he was appointed govei-nor of the
hospital in Cairo. He wrote in Arabic a famous medical treatise called Shifa-

26 1

Fenari, ' who had jjjonc thither on the same errand as him-
self, and who both were destined to become illustrious in
the learned world of their day. Tash-kopri-zade tells us,
and the story is repeated, more or less slightly modified, by
all the subsequent biographers, that the three friends, who
were then studying under the famous teacher Sheykh Ekmel-
ud-Din, being anxious to learn something of the fortune that
awaited them, repaired one day to the cell of a certain pro-
fessor of the occult arts who had a high reputation as a
reader of the future. This gifted personage 'looked into the
mirror of their auspicious destiny,' and turning to Hajji
Pasha, said, 'Thou shalt busy thyself with medicine;' then
to Fenari, 'Kindling thee at the light of learning, thou shalt
shine, and from thee shall many light the lamp, many stir
the fire of guidance on the way of salvation ;' and lastly to
Ahmedi, 'Thou shalt waste thy time over poetry; and
neglecting the universal sciences, thou shalt turn thee to
the particular arts;' ^ all of which prophecies of course duly
came to pass.

From Cairo Ahmedi returned to his native country of

ul-Esqam ve Dewd-ul-Alam or 'The Healing of Ills and the Cure of Pains,'
and in Turkish a smaller work on the same subject which he named Teshi'l-
ut-Tibb or ' The Facilitation of Medicine.'

' Mevlana Shems-ud-Din Mehemmed-i Fenari was among the most distin-
guished of the early Ottoman ^ulema. He was born in 751 (1350) at a village
called Fenar, whence his surname. During the reigns of Bdyezid and Mehemmed
he enjoyed great reputation as a teacher in Brusa, students coming from all
parts to attend his lectures. In 828 (1425) Murad II made him Cadi of
Brusa. In 833 (1430) he undertook for the second time the pilgrimage to
Mekka, on this occasion as an act of thanksgiving for the recovery of his
sight which he had temporarily lost. He died in 834 (1431). He left several
works in Arabic on scholastic subjects.

* By the term 'universal sciences' ('uliim-i kuUiye) is meant the abstract
sciences, such as metaphysic; these, being the peculiar province of the
Soul Reasonable, were accounted more worthy of respect than the ' particular
arts ' (funiin-i juz^'ye), like prosody and rhetoric, which depend upon such
faculties of the Soul Sensible as observation and imagination. See pp. 48-51.

262

Germiyan where he became khoja or titular tutor to the
Emir or King who, we are told, being fond of poetry, held
his preceptor in high esteem. This was most probably during
the reign of the Ottoman Sultan Murad I; in any case it
must have been before 792 (1390), the year in which Bayezid
the Thunderbolt swept away the independence of Germiyan
and of so many other of the states of the Decarchy.

The next glimpse we get of Ahmedi is at Amasiya where
he is said to have presented a qasida to Timur who had
paused at that city while on his devastating march through
the Turkish lands. The poem, we arc told, greatly pleased
the Tartar king who bade the author join his private circle,
where his wit and conversational gifts found much favour.
Here again the author of the Crimson Peony tells a story
which is reproduced without substantial difference by his
successors. One day Timur invited Ahmedi to accompany
him to the private bath in the establishment which served
him as a palace, and when there he asked him by way of
pleasantry to set a value on each of the young beauties
who were in attendance to perform the various ol^ces con-
nected with the Eastern bath. So the poet began and valued
one at the ' tribute of Egypt ;" ' another at the world full
of silver and gold, and so on. When he had finished, Timur
said, 'Come now, value me likewise.' Ahmedi looked at the
great conqueror, the master of half Asia, and answered,
' Eighty aspers,' ^ ' Out on thee, Ahmedi !' said the King,

• 'The triljute of Egypt,' a phrase used to express any immense sum
of money.

2 The Ottoman coinage was inaugurated by Sultan Orkhan who in 729
(1329) issued small silver pieces which were originally called aqcha-i ^osmani.
Until the end of the reign of Selim I (the first quarter of the sixteenth
century) these little coins were usually called simply ^osmanf; from that
time onwards the common designation has been aqcha. English writers have
almost always used the word 'asper' to represent the Turkish aqcha; and
as the former term, though incorrect, has found its way into our dictionaries

263

'how is it thou thus judgcstr the towel' alone which is
about my middle is worth eighty aspers.' ' It is even the
towel about thy middle that I valued,' rejoined the poet,
'that apart, thou art not worth a brass farthing!' Timur
had the magnanimity not only to pardon Ahmedi, but to
present him with such valuables as he had with him at the
bath. Perhaps, if there is any truth in the story, the despot
admired the courage which dared thus address him.

Some time after this, Ahmedi attached himself to the court
of Prince Suleyman at Adrianople, where he was well received.
According to the Crimson Peony he presented to this Prince
his great poem the Iskender-Name or 'Book of Alexander'
which had been written several years earlier, but to which
he continued to add almost to the time of his death ; he
also wrote for him a great number of qasidas and ghazels
which were formed into a Di'wan. He returned to Amasiya,
probably on the death of his patron, and there, according
to Tash-kopri-zade, he died about the end of the year 815
(Jan. — Feb. 14 13). The same authority states that Ahmedi
was over eighty years of age at the time of his death; if
this is correct, he must have been upwards of seventy when
at Suleyman's court.

Latifi's account of Ahmedi', which has been followed by
Von Hammer, differs considerably from the foregoing. Accord-

and may be considered as the English representative of the original, I shall
make use of it in the present work. Authorities differ as to the exact value
of the original aqcha or asper; but it is agreed that the coin was pretty
nearly equivalent to the modern ghurush or piastre, that is, to about a'/j d.
of our money. This value was fairly maintained till the time ofMehemmcdII
[855 (1451") — 918 (1481)] when it fell to about 2d. After this the asper
continued steadily to decline. The last struck were issued by Mahmiid II in
1234 (1818-9). For an excellent and detailed account of the Ottoman coinage,
see Ghalib Edhem Bey's Taqwim-i MeskiikAt-i ''Osmaniya.

' The towel or napkin which the bather puts round his waist and which
reaches to the knees or a little lower.

264

ing to this biographer, the poet, who was a native of Siwas,
was the panegyrist of one Mir (Lord) Sehnan or Sulman,
a tribal chief of Murad I's time, for whom he wrote his
Iskender-Name and his Diwan. The prince here meant is
probably the King of Germiyan to whom, according to the
Crimson Peony, Ahmedi acted as khoja. There is, however,
generally considerable difficulty in individualising the rulers
of these little states of the Decarchy, as the Ottoman histo-
rians, who are our chief authorities, have an unfortunate
habit of speaking of those kinglets by a simple patronymic ^
such as Germiyan-oghli, 'the Son of Germiyan,' without men-
tioning the name of the descendant in question. That Latifi's
Mir Sulman was the King of Germiyan is the opinion of
the modern Ottoman scholar Fa^iq Reshad Bey. This opinion
receives some support from the fact that, as we shall learn
more fully in a later chapter, the contemporary poet Sheykh-
oghli began his romantic mesnevi when ' Shah Suleyman
was King of all Germiyan,' although this sovereign appears
to have died before the completion of the poem, which was
eventually presented to Bayezid Bey (Sultan Bayezid the
Thunderbolt). On the other hand, no mention of a king of
Germiyan called Suleyman has been found in the histories.
These tell us that in 783 (138 1-2) Prince (afterwards Sultan)
Bayezid married the daughter of the Germiyan-oghli of the
time, then an aged man, whose son Ya'^qiib Bey (the name
in this case is recorded) was ruler of the country when it
was annexed by the Ottomans some nine years later. The
Germiyan-oghli who was Bayezid's father-in-law may be the
Mir Sulman or Shah Suleyman of the poets.

Latifi says nothing about the sojourn in Egypt, nothing
about the intercourse with Timur, but on the other hand he
tells a story concerning the Iskender-Name which, though
repeated by Hasan Chelebi, is passed ovhr by all the other

265

biographers. It is to the effect that when Ahinedi presented
this poem to ' the magnates of the age,' — by which term
must be meant Mir Sulman and his courtiers, — these decHned
to accept it, saying, 'A deft qasi'da had been better than
such a book as this.' Deeply chagrined by such a reception,
the author went back to the house which he shared with
Sheykhi, afterwards so illustrious as a poet, and there told
his friend the cause of his dejection. That night Sheykhi
composed an elegant qasida which he gave to Ahmedi
telline him to oft'er it on the morrow to his dissatisfied
patrons. Ahmedi did so, when the patrons, who seem to have
had some idea of criticism, having glanced over the lines,
said to him, 'If this qasida be thine, yon book is not; and
if the book be, this qasida is not.'

Such is Latifi's story, and it need not be without foun-
dation. The Iskender-Name contains no dedication; the
question is therefore between the statements of the biogra-
phers. Latifi, the earliest authority, says it was presented
to the ' tribal chief Mir Sulman (presumably the King of
Germiyan) ; Tash-kopri-zade says it was presented to Prince
Suleyman the son of Bayezid; '^Ashiq, Hasan and "^Ali are
silent on the subject. The identity of name between the
two princes has probably bred confusion ; but it may be
that the first draft of the work was offered to the King
of Germiyan and rejected as Latifi tells, and that later on
a more perfect version was presented to and accepted by
Prince Suleyman.

With regard to the part attributed to Sheykhi ; we know
from the Crimson Peony that in his youth this poet, who
was likewise a Germiyan Turk, was a pupil of Ahmedi's,
so is it not improbable that they may at one time have
lived under the same roof. Sheykhi's skill in decorative verse
was certainly far beyond Ahmedi's; but whether the elder

266

poet would have condescended to pass ofT a pupil's work
as his own may fairly be questioned.

Ahmedi's great work the Iskender-Name or ' Book of
Alexander'' is what in early French literature would be
called an Alexandreide, that is a history of Alexander the
Great as this was understood by the medieval world. It is
the first important secular poem of the Western Turks, if
indeed we may describe as secular a book which though
dealing with a legendary story and touching upon all branches
of the knowledge of the day, takes each incident as it
arises for the text for a sermon and discovers in every scene
an allegory or a parable. For this poem is not merely one
of the many fabulous versions of the life of the great con-
queror which in the Middle Ages sprang up on all sides
both in East and West ; here the story of Alexander is so
to speak but the frame-work within which the author sought
to enclose an epitome of all the science, whether sacred or
secular, of his time. His aim was thus to make of his book
a kind of encyclopaedia embracing in abstract all human
knowledge.

For this purpose the story of Alexander was well chosen ;
for the King being represented as of an inquiring turn of
mind and being ever accompanied by his sages, Aristotle,
Plato and the rest of them, the machinery for a formidable
scientific discussion is always at hand. In this way Ahmedi
contrives to introduce not merely abstracts of psychology
and medicine, astronomy and geography, and the other
sciences of the time, but a summary of the whole field of
history as the medieval East knew it. This summary, which
occupies about a fourth of the entire poem, finishes in some

' Ahmedi's Iskender-Name is still unpublished. The British Museum has
five MSS. (Harl. 3273: Add. 7918: Add. 7905: Or. 1376: Add. 5986.) of
which only the first is complete. There is an imperfect copy iu my collection.

267

nuuuisciipts with the fall of the Baghdad Khalifatc, while
ill others it is carried dow n to the author's own time, winding
up with the reign of his patron Suleyman over European
Turke\'.

Hut such discourses on science or history, which are always
put into the mouth of some sage or other and thus \\o\en
into the story, are not tlie onl\- interruptions to which this
is subjected. After every incident in the narrative Ahmedi
stops and, speaking in his own person, draws a moral from
what he has just related, the incident itself being most often
turned into an allegory; and thus he makes his book a manual
of Practical Philosophy as well as of Theoretic.

When Ahmedi wrote, Turkish literature was, as wc know,
extremely limited, consisting almost entirely of a few mystic
poems; it may have been his ambition to supply a complete
library in one great work and to present to his countrymen
in their own language the essentials of an education hitherto
accessible only to those versed in Arabic and Persian. But
whatever may have been the motive of the author, it is
beyond question that while his book gains in interest from
an archaeological point of view by what is practically a
panorama of Oriental science in the fourteenth century, the
continually recurring interruptions and long-winded digressions
are fatal to the poem as a work of art. But then we ha\e
no reason to think that Ahmedi ever regarded the Iskender-
Name as a work of art; his obvious purpose was to educate
and to supply a guide for conduct. That he chose to write
in verse may well have been simply because verse was the
easiest and most natural medium of literary expression in
the existing condition of the Turkish language. He makes
no attempt to embeUish his lines with any kind of rhetorical
ornament ; even the homonym, which the single-minded
■^Ashiq did not disdain, is disregarded. Picturesqueness of

268

imagery is equally little sought after; the result being a
style of extreme simplicity often degenerating into baldness.
Here and there this simplicity of thought and language
lends a certain vigour to the verse, and would do so more
often but for the intolerable prolixity which is the besetting
sin of Ahmedi as it is of the whole family of medieval
romancists.

The Iskender-Name was written during the latter half of
the fourteenth century, somewhat before the definite settle-
ment of prosody. None the less, the metre employed, which
is the same as that used by Veled, '^Ashiq and Suleyman,
is fairly correctly observed, the chief irregularity being an
inordinate use of elision. From the first the poets had occa-
sionally, as a prosodial license, elided a short vowel imme-
diately followed by a long one ; this license Ahmedi turned
into a practice. The result is displeasing, and must have
been at once felt to be so, as no subsequent poet availed
himself of this license to anything like the same extent, and
eventually the use of elision was dropped altogether.

As might be expected, the old Ottoman critics, Latifi,
'^Ashiq, Hasan and "^Ali, are at one in disparaging the man-
ner of the Iskender-Name. So artless a poem could hardly
commend itself to those masters of the 'grand style.' Latifi
declares that the literary skill of Ahmedi is in no wise
commensurate with his learning; Hasan says that though
his Iskender-Name is renowned, the manner of its versifi-
cation is notorious; ^Ali sees in 'his diffuse and prolix mesnevi"
and in ' his insipid and awkward phrases ' a fulfilment of
the prophecy of the Egyptian seer who foretold that he
would ' waste his time ' over versifiying.

Ahmedi's poem is not, like many Turkish romances, a
translation from the Persian. It has little beyond the name
and the general subject in common with Nizami's celebrated

269

poems. The story as ^ivcn by Ahmedi follows generally on
the lines of the history of Alexander as this is detailed in
the Shah-Name of Firdausi. But the Turkish poet frequently
modifies, sometimes quite alters, tiie incidents of the romance,
and very often changes their order. The numerous digressions,
scientific and didactic, are entirely his own.

In the epilogue to Ahmedi's poem we are told that the
work consists of 8,250 couplets, and that it was finished on
the first day of the Latter Rebi" of 792 (19th. March, 1390),
which date, it is added, corresponds to the years 1700 of
Alexander, 759 of Yezdejird, and 310 of Melik Shah. But
additions were evidently made from time to time; thus in
some manuscripts we find this allusion to the death of Prince
Suleyman which occurred in 814 (141 1): —

Bayezid and Timur kings were yesterday;
Now on one the snake, on one the ant, doth prey.
Yesterday reigned Mi'r Suleyman royally ;
Darksome dust within the earth to-day is he.
Unto him with whom the power of vision lies
Prince Suleyman's fate as warning will sufilce. '

The Iskender-Name opens with a number of introductory
cantos, some celebrating in more or less mystic fashion the
glory of God and the praises of the Prophet, others dealing
with certain technical points of Siifi lore. When these pre-
liminaries, which occupy many pages, have been got over,
the author embarks upon the romance. This is divided into

oLuwM ii).i» i^jijl ?sO_! ^Aiji QfcS _^J * si-A-J *>AJ./0 q5-> AjJL4.*1-a« ~f;A

These lines occur in the historical portion of the Iskender-Name, where the
author, when speaking of the destruction of Rustem's family, mentions as other
examples of the instability of earthly greatness, the deaths of his own con-
temporaries, Bayezid the Thunderbolt, Timur and Prince Suleyman. It is possible,
but improbable, that the Mir Suleyman referred to is the King of Germiyan.

2/0

a series of Dastans or 'Legends,' each devoted to some
conquest or exploit of the hero. These Dastans consist each
of several cantos, each narrative canto being as a rule followed
by one pointing out the moral lesson to be drawn. Leaving
out of sight these preachments and also the scientific discus-
sions, as forming no real part of the romance, the story of
Iskender or Alexander, as given by Ahmedi, is in outline
as follows : —

Dara (Darius), the mighty King of Persia, conquers Riim,
and having killed the Caesar, divides the country among a
number of native nobles who are to rule as his vassals.
Faylaqus (Philip) in this way receives the region of Yiinan
(Ionia) subject to an annual tribute of a thousand golden
eggs — such eggs, each a misqal in weight, forming, we are
told, the money of those days. Darius also marries the daughter
of Philip, but restores her to her father when he returns to
his own capital Meda^in. ' Before departing he leaves instruc-
tions that if the child born of her be a son, he is to receive
all Rum as his heritage and that Philip is to act as his
guardian. Some time after his return home Darius dies and
is succeeded by his son Darab (Darius Codomanus). By and
by there is born to Philip a grandson for whom the astro-
logers predict the most brilliant future, and whom Eflatun
(Plato) and Buqrat (Hippocrates) name Iskender (Alexander).
He is surnamed Zu-1-Qarnayn (i. e. * He of the Two Horns,'
'the Bicorned,') because he is destined to conquer East and
West, and because he was born with two tresses. Aristu
(Aristotle) and Suqrat (Socrates) as well as Plato and Hippo-

' Medd^in, which in Arabic means ' Cities,' is the name given by the
Muslim writers to that great city on the Tigris which the Byzantines called
Ctesiphon. We are told that it consisted of seven cities (whence the name)
which together formed the capital of the ancient Persian Empire. Little of
Mcda^in now remains above the ground save the ruins of the Tdq-i Kisrd or
' Arch of the Chosroes,' built by the Kisra, or Chosroes, Niishirewan.

2/1

crates arc chari^jed with his education, and so by tlic time
lie has reached his tenth year he is a philosopher versed
in the mysteries of the heavens. Phihp dies when Alexander
is fifteen years old, whereupon the latter becomes king. His
first act is to summon the four philosophers and ask them
concerning the nature of things; they are explaining this in
a materialistic fashion when Khizr, ' who is present though
not recognised, declares that matter is not eternal and that
God formed the universe from nothing. He convinces Plato
and then vanishes, whereupon the}' recognise who he is that
had come to teach them the True Faith, which, on the
King's suggestion, they accept. Alexander then asks each of
the four to embody in a treatise his counsels, that these
may aid him in the hard task of kingship; and this they
accordingly do. One night Alexander sees in a vision an
angel who gives a sword into his hand telling him to use
it against his enemies, East and West having been given
to him ; which dream Aristotle interprets as a Divine pro-
mise that he will conquer the whole world.

Darius, who hears of Alexander's pretensions, is incensed
and sends an ambassador demanding the annual tribute.
Alexander bids the envoy tell his master that the bird that
laid the golden eggs is dead, having been eaten by Philip
during his last illness. Darius, furious at such an answer,
sends a second envoy with a sack of millet w hich he empties
out before Alexander. The latter, divining this to be a
symbol of the magnitude of the host that will be led against
him. sends for a cock which eats up all the millet, thus
indicating that the vast army will be destroyed by a single
person. Darius then assembles his countless hosts, the war-
riors not alone of Persia, but of the man)- regions subject
to the Great King, and with these he marches exultant

' See p. 172. n. i.

2/2

into Rum. Alexander, whose brave bearing and eloquent
words have won the hearts of his warriors to fight valiantly
for him, advances to resist the foe. A furious battle follows
which results in the utter defeat of Darius, whose camp and
possessions fall into the hands of Alexander. Darius himself
flies from the field, and as he is seeking some place of shelter
he is overtaken and mortally wounded by two of his own
nobles to whom he had given some offence. These thereupon
go to Alexander and report what they have done, looking
to be rewarded ; but the King, indignant at their treachery,
has them both hanged straightway. This is told to Darius,
who is pleased at Alexander's justice, and sends him a mes-
sage making over to him his kingdom and all his treasures.
Alexander hastens to the dying King who with his last
words confirms the gift. Alexander, who thus becomes King
of Persia as well as of Rum, proceeds to Meda^in where by
the justice of his rule he wins the hearts of all. '

By and by Alexander resolves to lead an expedition into
India, so he sends a letter to Keyd the king of that land,
demanding his submission. Now Keyd is a wise prince ; and
as some little time before, he had been warned in a vision
of the approach of an irresistible conqueror from Rum, he
determines to at once tender his submission and if possible

1 In some MSS. there follows here a long dastan dealing with the love-
adventui-es of Alexander and Gul-Shah (Princess Rose) daughter of Zeresb
the King of Zabulistdn. This interlude I strongly suspect to" be, if not
altogether apochryphal, at any rate an after-thought and no part of the original
scheme. My reasons for this opinion are these: i, This dastan, and this
alone, is omitted from many MSS. 2, Nothing in any way corresponding to
it occurs in the Shah-Name version of the story, which Ahmedi elsewhere
follows generally. 3, The literary style is different from that of the rest of
the work ; here alone are ghazels interspersed through the mesnevi, in the
fashion of Sheykhi and later poets. 4, It is awkwardly interpolated, having
no connection with the story proper, and being evidently introduced merely
for the sake of the love element which is otherwise quite unrepresented in
the Iskcnder-Name.

273

make a friend of the invincible invader. To this end he
despatches an ambassador to Alexander not only to announce
his submission, but to pray the Rumi King to accept as an
offering his four unique treasures, namely, his sage who knows
the secrets of the spheres and the influences of the stars,
his physician who can cure all ills save death alone, his
bowl which, however much one drink from it, can never be
emptied, and his peerless daughter Shehr Banu. ' The plan
succeeds, and Alexander enters Keyd's territory as a friend.
The two kings meet and feast together and exchange gifts.
Alexander tests the Indian sage by requiring the explanation
of a number of symbolic actions, and then asks him about
the beginnings of the universe and of man ; after which he
inquires of the physician concerning the body of man and
the nature of the mind.

In the spring Alexander determines to march against Fur
(Porus), another Indian king, who however refuses to follow
Keyd's example, and prepares to resist the aggressor. He
has in his army many elephants, animals new to Alexander,
who none the less devises a stratagem to put them to flight.
He constructs a number of artificial elephants, filled inside
with inflammable materials, which are set on trolleys and
pulled along in front of his soldiers. When the two armies
meet, the trolleys are driven right up to the elephants,
which are in front of the Indian troops, the combustible
materials are then set ablaze, whereupon Fur's elephants
turn in terror, and rushing back upon the Indian lines, throw
everything into confusion. The Riimi-Persian army then
attacks, when the Indians are totally defeated, and Fiir
himself is slain. By this victory Alexander becomes lord-
paramount of all India.

• Shehr Banii, i.e. 'Lady of the City;' in some MSS. the name is Shehd
BanU, i. e. • Lady Honey.'

274

Having settled affairs in his new possession, Alexander,
accompanied by his army and his sages, sets out on his
long course of wanderings, wanderings to which he is impelled
as much by his intense desire to see the wonders of the
world as by his lust of conquest. He begins by exploring
the islands of the China Sea. i The first place at which the
flotilla touches is the Island of Ra^ij ; here they find a crea-
ture in human form, but winged, and speaking a tongue
they cannot understand ; they see also a huge mountain
infested by snakes as large as dragons; and they catch a
parrot belonging to a species that can learn any human
language they hear spoken. In the same island grows the
camphor-tree, in the shade of which a hundred persons can
rest ; all summer these trees also are infested by huge snakes
so that no one can approach them, the natives therefore
shoot at them arrows to which they have affixed their own
names, and when winter is come and the snakes are gone,
each man appropriates the tree in which his arrow has stuck,
and draws the camphor from it. Alexander and his warriors
sail next to the Isle of Raziya where gold grows on the
ground like grass, and where they find a timid people who flee
on their approach. The next halt is at the Isle of Waq-Waq ^
which is ruled by a queen who has an army of six thousand
maidens, and who sends gifts to Alexander on hearing of
his arrival; this island owes its name to a tree the fruit of

1 The China Sea was par excellence the region of marvels. Most of the
wonders seen by Alexander, as well as the names of most of the islands he
visited, are taken from the works of the old geographers, Qazwini, Idrisi and
Ibn-ul-Verdi. Some are mentioned in the Arabian Nights story of Sindbad.
Those matters are carefully investigated, and many points in connection with
them elucidated, by M. van der Lith, in his fine edition of the Kitab "^Aja^ib
el-Hind (Livre des Merveilles de I'lnde), Leyden, E. J. Brill, 1883-6.

2 M. de Goeje has identified the Waq-Waq Isles with Japan, which is called
Wo-Kwok in the Chinese dialect of Canton, where the Arab sailors doubtless
learned the name. L. de Merveilles, pp. 295 et seq.

275

which cries out Wriq ! Waq ! They proceed to another island
where there is a very beautiful people who live among
inaccessible mountains; also a race of dog-headed men.
Alexander questions an old man whom he meets here con-
cerning the ocean, and is told that someone else had inquired
as to its depth, wherevpon an angel had appeared and informed
the questioner that a man who had fallen in three hundred
years before was still falling, not yet having reached the
bottom. The old man tells further of a great fish that seeks
to swallow ships but can be driven off by the beating of
drums ; of a monster crab the shell of which when pounded
and mixed with tutty is good for illnesses of the eye ; of
a wondrous deer; of a radiance that appears in the form of
a bird whereat if one look, his eyes are dazzled, and on
the appearance whereof the sky becomes as a garden while
the sea shines with light and the waves are stilled ; of a
snake-bodied, elephant-headed fish ; and of a creature that
swims in the sea by day and flies through the air by night.
As the climate of the Isle of Jaba is pleasant, Alexander builds
there a city which he calls Serendib; he then subjects the
whole island which was being torn by internal wars. In the
Isle of the Tinm'n (Dragon) he encounters a great dragon which
eats two oxen every night. Alexander destroys this monster
by filling two ox-skins with pitch and lime and leaving
these in the path of the dragon who eats them and is burned.
The next island is Selamit where they see a fountain flowing
into a well ; the drops of water as they descend into this
well are changed into stones, white or black according as
they fall b}- day or by night. Alexander reaches the Valley
of Diamonds through which he is told none, not even dra-
gons, may pass, as it is full of venomous snakes and as
there blows in it a wind that turns stones to wax, though
nothing can cut the diamonds there. The King determines

2/6

to obtain some of these, so he has a thousand eagles caught
and kept foodless for two days, when he has pieces of meat
thrown before their eyes into the Valley. The birds are
then released, whereupon they fly down and pick up the pieces
of meat to which many diamonds adhere; they are followed,
and where they alight the precious stones are found. In
another island the King sees a great palace concerning which
he asks the Indian sage, who tells him that none can enter
it and no one knows what it is. As they are speaking there
issue from it a host of dog-headed men who attack Alexan-
der's army, but are defeated and fly back into their stronghold.
The King desires to follow them, but is dissuaded by the
sage who declares to him that the place is enchanted.

Alexander now turns his face towards China, which when
Tamghaj Khan, the king of that country, hears, he is sore
perplexed. He however resolves to submit, and goes out to
meet Alexander, and the two kings enter the Chinese capital
together in triumph. The usual feasts and philosophical dis-
cussions ensue, and Alexander confirms Tamghaj in all his
former rights. He next proceeds to the most eastern East
and looks upon the rising-place of the sun. Then desirous
of beholding the wonders of the West, he retraces his foot-
steps, and soon afterwards he has left China behind him.
He is encamped in a lovely spot when he is accosted by
a man who tells him that yesterday he saw a wonderful
stone which changes from colour to colour and at night
shines like a mirror. Alexander asks Aristotle of this and is
told that the name of this stone is feylaqus, that it is found
in China and Russia, that he who possesses it can control
the demons and enjoys safety from wild beasts and reptiles;
but that the demons hide it lest any man should through
it obtain mastery over them. After visiting a mine whence is
obtained the metal kharchin from which are made poisoned

277

spear and arrow heads, but whereat if a paralytic look, he
is cured, they proceed through Cashmere to the Turkish
lands. A Turkish chieftain offers battle, and after a hard
fight is defeated, whereupon his country is made over to the
King of China. Alexander con\erts the people, who are
heathen, to the Unity, and after the customary carouse, sets
out on the search for new wonders. They encounter giant
apes and one-horned hares on their way to the land of
Tagharun whose inhabitants are men in form but brutes in
nature, and where they see men with the heads of wolves
and others with the faces of elephants or dogs.

Proceeding, they come to a place where are two great
mountains with a gap between them, and beneath which
dwells a feeble and timid folk. In reply to the King's ques-
tions, these tell him that they live in terror of Gog and
Magog, two barbarous tribes, that dwell on the other side
of the mountains and ever and anon descend upon them
through the gap, and harry and lay waste their land. In
response to their prayer for aid, Alexander gets together a
vast array of workmen and blocks up the gap through which
the savages come, by building in it a huge dyke or rampart.
When this has reached the summits of the mountains he
covers it over with pieces of metal which he then melts by
means of blasts from innumerable furnaces so that, when
the metal has cooled, mountains and dyke present one solid
mass which nothing can penetrate. As this charitable action
was done for the love of God, Alexander put much gold
and silver among the metal on the dyke.

Having thus effectually barred the way of Gog and Magog,
Alexander continues his journey. The Russians of Khazar
try to stop his progress, but after a desperate battle they
are defeated and their lands laid waste. The King then pro-
ceeds to Mazenderan in order to conquer the di'vs or demons

278

whose head-quarters are in that province and of whose exploits
he has heard. He fights a great battle with them, in the
course of which a demon leaps upon his shoulders and cannot
be displaced till smitten down by an angel from heaven.
When the fiends have been utterly defeated, Alexander passes
into Khurasan, and there founds the cities of Merv, Samar-
cand and Herat.

The next country visited is Egypt, where the King sees
the pyramids and many other marvels. He founds there the
city of Alexandria which he names after himself and makes
his capital. He builds in this city a pillar, on which is set
a glass called the giti-numa or ' world-displayer,' wherein
is reflected all the good and all the evil done throughout
the world. Besides this, there is erected on the pillar a talis-
manic figure of a man which turns towards the quarter where
any enemy is plotting against the city; and there is like-
wise another talisman which keeps the city free from snakes
and all stinging things. '

Meanwhile Qayzafa, - the great Queen of the Sunset-land
(Maghrib), ^ having heard of the mighty deeds of Alexander,
sends a clever painter to Egypt, who, without the King's
knowing it, takes his portrait and carries it back to his
mistress. Alexander on his part hears of the splendour and
power of Qayzafa, and straightway desiring that she too be
subject to him, sends an ambassador demanding her sub-

1 Ahmedi tells how those talismans were destroyed through the craft of a
Frank who having ingratiated himself with the "^Abbasi Khalifa of the day,
persuaded him by means of a lying story of a treasure hidden beneath, to
demolish the pillar whereon they stood.

2 This name s-S'iAa's should perhaps be transliterated Qaydafa, the O being
often written O in old Persian books.

3 Maghrib, literally the 'Sunset-land' or the 'Land of the Setting,' is con-
stantly mentioned in Eastern romance. It vaguely represents the western
regions of the earth (as then known), especially Barbary or North-western
Africa with Spain and Portugal.

279

mission. She replies b)' bidding him beware of presumption
and arrogance. On receiving this answer, he sets out against
her with a \ast army, and on his way he comes to a great
city, whicli he takes. Qayzafa's son Qandariish, who is mar-
ried to the daughter of the king of this city, is here made
prisoner along \vith his wife. In order himself to spy out
the resources of Qayzafa's land, Alexander devises and exe-
cutes a stratagem ; he makes his vezir assume the royal
dress and personate the king, while he disguises himself as
a simple noble, and when Qandariish and his wife are led
out to be executed, he intercedes for them with the fictitious
king and obtains their freedom, and having thus won their
gratitude, he accompanies them in the character of an am-
bassador to the court of Qayzafa. The Queen, who recognises
the King from his portrait, asks his errand, whereupon he
declares that he is an ambassador from Alexander who
demands her submission ; this she again refuses. After he
has given a false name in answer to her questions, Qayzafa
tells him that he himself is Alexander and shows him his
own portrait. On finding himself thus discovered, the King
is in terror for his life ; but the Queen reassures him, and
after making him swear never to lead an army against her,
proposes a treaty of alliance, to which he agrees. He is then
presented with many gifts and set at liberty. But no sooner
is he in safety, than, tormented b}- the thought that he has
had to treat with another sovereign as with his equal, he
schemes the destruction of Qayzafa and her land. Precluded
by his oath from drawing the sword against her, he is com-
pelled to fall back on stratagem. The Sunset-land lies at a
lower level than Rum, so in order to destroy the former, he
causes great canals to be dug to it from the Sea of Riim, which
is then allowed to enter these canals, and thus the Sunset-land
is submerged, and Qayzafa and all her subjects are drowned.

28o

When they hear of this, all the remaining kings of the
earth, dreading the violence and craft of Alexander, offer
him their submission, and he becomes lord-paramount of
the whole world. But still he is not satisfied, and sighs that
there are no more worlds to conquer. Scorning his vezir's
counsel to be content, he fits out a ship with provisions for
a year and gives it in charge to a skilful captain and crew, who
have with them two learned men from each of the nations
of the world, and who are bidden sail the seas for a year
and see whether there be still any land unconquered. They
sail for a whole year but see nothing, and are about to return
when they perceive another ship. This they approach, but
though they have with them interpreters for seventy-two
languages, they are unable to understand a word of the
strangers' speech. The two crews agree by signs that a man
from each ship shall go and stay for a time in the other
so that he may learn the language and tell what there is to
tell. Alexander's ship returns with the stranger on board, and
when the latter has learned the Rumi tongue, he is brought
before the King to whom he tells that in the world whence
he comes there is likewise a king whose name is Alexander and
who, having conquered all the kingdoms there, had despatched
that ship with two years' provisions to bring him tidings of
the earth, of which he now desires to possess himself.

On hearing this, Alexander's pride is somewhat abated,
and he bids Aristotle tell him the history of all that has
happened and that shall happen upon the earth. In response
to this command the sage gives a sketch of the history of
the world as this was known in Ahmedi's time, beginning
with Keyumers the first legendary king of Persia and coming
down to the time of the composition of the Iskender-Name.
In the course of this history Alexander hears of the future
advent of the Prophet and of the glories of Baghdad ; and

28l

anxious to behold the sacred Ka^ba and the city where the
Khahfas are to rule, he again sets out with his great army.
Having visited Baghdad, he proceeds towards the Hijaz, on
the way to which he comes upon a monastery which he
enters and where he sees an ancient monk who continues
his devotions utterly regardless of the great King's presence.
On Alexander's asking what he means by this behaviour,
the monk replies that it were unbecoming he should bow
down to a slave of his slave. Alexander demands an explanation
of his words, whereupon he says, 'Thou art the slave of lust
whose master I am.' The King is pleased with this answer,
and prays the monk to give him some helpful counsel, which
he does. ' The next object Alexander encounters is a lofty
palace, the door of which, though guarded by a talisman,
opens to his hand. On entering he perceives upon a gold
and ivory throne the body of a king, and hard by a tablet
setting forth that this is *^Ad, conqueror of East and West,
who ruled for twelve hundred years till death came to him,
when none could save him, and bidding the reader beware
of trust in the world and of pride; and when Alexander
reads this he weeps. The King passes on and reaches Mekka,
where he performs all the rites of the pilgrimage. When
he has heard the history of the city, he leaves and proceeds
to Jerusalem, after visiting which, he returns to Egypt. There
he reigns in all prosperity and splendour; and sages repair
thither from every land, and study and write books.

Alexander sees now that his fortune is at the zenith, and
as he knows that declension must follow every ascension,
his heart is grieved. A sage who perceives the traces of care
upon his face, asks the reason, and when the King tells him,
he replies that in the Farthest East springs the Fountain

' This story is told likewise of Diogenes the Cynic (Diyujanes-i Kelbi)
and the king of his day.

282

of Life, of which if any drink, he lives for ever in the world,
but that the way thereto is very hard. When he hears of
this, Alexander is rejoiced as though he had already found
the Water, and straightway appoints as regent his son Isken-
derus, and accompanied by Khizr and a mighty army, sets
out for the distant East. On his march he comes to the
City of the Brahmans, a mountain in the caves of which
dwell countless naked and fasting devotees; and on his asking
their chiefs why they thus live apart from mankind and
abstain from food, he is answered that there is other food
than bread. Going on, he comes to a vast dome, under which
he enters, and there in a jewel-adorned room, on a ruby
throne, he sees a dead man, and by him a tablet bearing
an inscription in which he (Alexander) is addressed by name
and told that this dead man was likewise a King Zu-1-Qarnayn,
that he lived four thousand years ago, and that he too having
conquered East and West, had got so far on his journey
in quest of the Fount of Life. Proceeding onwards, they
pass through plains and valleys and forests filled with wild
boars and snakes and tigers till they reach the Land of the
Witches who seek to bar their progress by causing to spring
up before them an enchanted fire, which, however, is extin-
guished by a great rain sent from heaven in response to Khizr's
prayer. A month's further journey brings them to the City
of Shad-Kam (Fulfilled Desire), all the inhabitants of which
are women. The Queen hospitably receives them and directs
them on their way to the Fount of Life which lies no great
distance off in the midst of a dense and impenetrable Dark-
ness, the beginnings of which can be seen from the spot
to which their lady-guides accompany them. Alexander and
his army then advance into the Darkness wherein the Fount
is hid; but ere they have got very far, they are assailed by
a terrific storm which destroys half the host and scatters

283

the remainder in hopeless confusion. When Alexander becomes
conscious of what has happened, he realises that the Water
of Life is not for him; so he and what is left of his army-
grope their way through the Blackness out into the light as
best they may. Meanwhile Khizr, who in the confusion
wrought by the storm, had got separated from all the others,
comes without trouble upon the Fount of Life, and drinks
thereof; and so he lives for ever, though he is never seen
again by Alexander or his warriors.

These, on issuing from the Darkness, encamp in a plain
in the centre of which is a great tree beneath whose shade
Alexander lies down to sleep. At midnight, when all are
asleep save the King, he hears the tree sighing and wailing;
it then addresses him, asking why he still thus lusts after
conquest seeing that his end is near, and reproaching him
with having made no provision for the future and with having
got no real happiness from his life. When he hears the words
of the tree, the King is filled with dismay, and on the morrow
he is taken ill ; and the army hastens back towards Persia.
At a certain place on the road Alexander is attacked with
sudden weakness, and there he writes a farewell letter to
his mother Riiqiya Khatun. They proceed to Shehr-riiz, where
the King's sickness increases on him, and w^here Plato vainly
tries to cure him. He then gives instructions as to his funeral,
and dies. His body is taken to Alexandria where his mother
visits his bier, and mourning over him, cries that while he
went in search of the Water of Life, he drained the cup of
Death. He is buried in that city with the utmost pomp;
but when his body is being carried to the grave, one hand
is left exposed, so that all may take warning, seeing how
Alexander who possessed the whole world goes empty-handed
as he came. His mother commands each of the Greek sages
to write an epitaph on him, and then seeks out his son

284

Iskenderus to seat him in his father's place. But this Prince
is a philosopher and hates sovereignty, so he refuses the
crown and retires into holy seclusion. Anarchy therefore
and confusion fill the Eastern world till King Ardeshi'r, the
first of the Sasanians, appears and once again brings order
to those lands.

Such is the history of Alexander as recounted by Ahmedi.
In this history there is one incident which seems in a pre-
eminent degree to have laid hold of the imagination of the
Eastern poets. This is the King's futile quest of the Water
of Life in the Land of Darkness and the discovery of that
Fountain by Khizr. It is not too much to say that there is
scarcely an Ottoman poet of any importance who has not
in one way or another made allusion to this famous adventure.
As we proceed we shall find constant references to it and
endless fancies suggested by it, so it will be well to bear
this part of the story in our minds. We shall also meet with
allusions to the Dyke of Gog and Magog, and to what the
poets call the 'Mirror of Alexander,' which would appear
to be identical with the talismanic glass that Ahmedi says
was set up on the pillar at Alexandria. The King himself
is often mentioned as the type of a mighty conqueror and
powerful monarch, and the proudest of the Sultans held it
for a compliment to be compared to this great forerunner.

Perhaps because the absence of any love-interest rendered
it less suitable material for Siifi allegorising, the story of
Alexander was less popular as a subject with the Turkish
writers than any other of the stock-romances of the Persians;
and so while we find several versions, by as many different
poets, of the stories of Khusrev and Shirin, of Leyli and
Mcjnun, and of Joseph and Zelikha, there is, as far as I
know, only one other Iskender-Name in West-Turkish lite-
rature. This is by an obscure Ottoman poet called Fighani,

28s

who wrote about the end of the fifteenth century; but it
never achieved any success, and is now practically forgotten. '

The Iskender-Name is far from being the sole outcome
of Ahmedi's literary labours. He wrote an immense number
of qasidas and ghazels; these have been collected and form
a large Dtwan, a manuscript of which is in the British
Museum. -

The style of these lyric poems differs much from that of
the Iskender-Name ; far more attention, has been paid to
matters of technique; there is here a striving after felicity,
if not curiosity, of expression, which is wholly absent from
the romance. The metres are regularly Persian, although
frequent violations of the strict prosodial rules still occur.
There is a much more sparing use of the license of elision.
jNIany of the poems are addressed to Mir Sulman ; but whether
the King of Germiyan or Prince Suleyman is intended, is
not always determinable. Ahmedi's Di'wan is quite in the
Persian style and taste. It is very unlike that of his contem-
porary Cadi Burhan-ud-Din which was no doubt being written
while his own Iskender-Name was in process of composition.
If the bulk of Ahmedi's l)'rics, as we have them, was pro-
duced during the fourteenth century, then the settlement of
West-Turkish prosody must have been effected somewhat
before the Tartar invasion.

Latifi says that Ahmedi translated most of the qasidas
of the Persian poets Selman and Zahir. While it is quite
possible that Ahmedi did study and 'parallel,' or even trans-
late, some of the works of these two poets, this statement
of Latifi's need not be taken literally. It was the fashion
among Ottoman writers of the fifteenth and sixteenth cen-

• There is a much better-known version of the story by Mi'r "^Ali Shir-i
Newd^'; but this of course is in Jaghatay or Eastern Turkish, and so does
not come within our sphere.

■^ Or. 4127. The Diwdn is unprinted.

286

tufies to bracket the names of Selnian and Zahir with that
of any poet they wished to commend, witliout meaning that
there was any actual resemblance ; thus to say that so and
so's qasidas were as those of Selman and Zahir, implied
nothing more than that they were excellent. '

Latifi credits Ahmedi with a second romantic mesnevi,
'Jemshid and Khurshid ' by name. In this he is borne out
by Katib Chelebi who mentions two Turkish poems with
that title, one by Ahmedi of Germiyan and one by the
poetess Hubbi ^ who flourished in the sixteenth century. Of
this romance of Ahmedi's I have been unable to find any
particulars. It is not unlikely that it was suggested by, per-
haps translated from, a poem of the same name written in
763 (1362) by the Persian Selman whom Latifi says he followed.
If this be so, the Jemshid who is hero of the romance is
not the celebrated half-legendary king of ancient Persia, but
a wholly imaginary prince, son of the Faghfiir or Emperor
of China, while the heroine Khurshid is the daughter of the
Caesar of Rum.

Several of the biographers mention further a versified
treatise on medicine as being among Ahmedi's works; and
Katib Chelebi speaks of a Turkish poem called Suleyman-

1 Zahir-ud-Di'n-i Faryabi (see p. 144, n. 2.), who died in 598 (1201-2), and
Selman Saveji, who died about 779 (1377-8), are among the greatest of the
Persian qasida-writers. They probably owed the position of conventional paragon
that they held among the Turks to the following passage from one of the
ghazels of Hafiz in which the great Persian poet flatters himself on having
outdone them : —

What place is there for the ditties of Kh^ijii and the poetry of Selman?
For the poetry of our Hafiz is better than the fair verse of Zahir.

2 In Fluegel's edition this name is wrongly printed , c^^ ^id translite-
rated Jeni.

28;

Name or 'The Book of Suleyman,' which he say's is by
Ahmedi of Germiyan. This last may perhaps be the accom-
pHshment of a pious purpose expressed in the Iskender-Name,
where, after the account of Prince Suleyman's reign at the
close of the historical sketch, the author declares his intention,
provided life be accorded him, of writini; a book entirely
devoted to the exploits of his patron.

We shall now translate a few extracts from such of Ahmedi's
works as are accessible.

From the Iskender-Name. [40]

Alexander buildeth the Dyke of Gog and Magog.

Journeying onward, did the King two mountains reach, —
Even to the moon upsoared the peak of each. *
When the King of Earth was come those mountains nigh,
There a passing wretched folk did he espy.
Woman-like were all, and naked and forlorn,
All of them by hunger's hand distraught and worn.

When the Monarch asked them of their case, did they
Answer thus : ' O King, live thou on earth for aye !
'Howsoe'er the Sphere may turn, do thou remain!
' Sure and steadfast may the Lord thy throne maintain !
'May the Etern eternal life on thee bestow!

' For Muhammedan peoples the source of the story of Gog and Magog
(Ye'jiij and Me^jiij), which appear to have been the names of barbarous
Turkman tribes, is the following passage from the i8th. chapter of the Koran:
"Then he (Alexander) followed a way, until when he reached to between
the two ramparts (i. e. mountains) he found below them a folk who could
scarce understand speech. Said they, 'O Bicorned! verily Gog and Magog are
evil-doers on the earth; so shall we bring to thee tribute on that thou settest
between us and them a dyke?' Said he, 'What my Lord hath established me
in is better, so aid me with strength and I will set between you and them
a rampart. Bring me lumps of iron until they fill up the space between the
mountain-sides.' Said he, ' Blow until that it maketh a fire.' Said he, ' Bring
me that I may pour over it, molten brass.' And they (Gog and Magog) could
not scale it, neither could they tunnel it."

288

■• Ne'er may thy prosperity declension Icnow!

'Neither man nor jinn nor lion, pard nor dralve '

'■ From thy fearful onslaught e'er escape did make.

'Thou hast swept disorder from the earth away,

'Through tliy justice blooms the world a garden gay.

' Since, O Monarch, thou hast asked us of our plight,

' Hearken that our case before thee we recite.

'Haply for this ill thou'lt find some remedy,

'Haply this hard knot by thee unloosed will be.

' There beyond these mountains, hills and plains untold

' Stretch, and therein Gog and Magog have their hold.

'If we till the land or if the fields we sow,

' Gog and Magog come and waste whate'er we do.

'AH their work is but to ravage and oppress,

' All they do is but to ruin and distress.

' Half the stature of a man their height indeed ;

'Unto one a thousand, — such the rate they breed.

'Like the boar's, their bodies bristle o'er with hair,

'Passing sharp and long the nails and claws they bear.

' Naught is there Avith them of any human grace,

' Neither of religion show they any trace.

'Though the sands may numbered be, O mighty King,

' Yet of those there is nor tale nor reckoning.

' There, between these mountains twain, O King of Earth,

' Lies the road by which they alway issue forth.

'Other way there is not whereby they might pass.

' Let the Monarch find some help for this our case.

'So that in the Sovran's reign the folk be glad,

' So that be the Sovran's name with blessings said.

' Surely he whose name with blessings said shall be,

' In the Here and the Hereafter glad shall be !

' We too shall bestir ourselves and lend our aid.

' 'Tween the mountains let a dyke by thee be made ;

'That such dyke may ever henceforth block their path,

' And this land no more be wasted by their wrath.'

Said the King, 'To God be thanks that He Most Great
' Made me not on any creature's aidance wait.

1 Drake, i. e. dragon.

289

"•Ne'er a need have I of any creature's aid.

'So that God but help me, shall the Dyke be made.'

Therefore for a season there the King did stay,
And he gathered workmen in untold array.
Gold and silver there for stone and iron he
Used, Decause he built this Dyke for charity.
(Spend thy wealth in charity, if gracious thou;
Hide it not, elscwise thy name is mean and low.)
So the King renowned upreared a mighty wall
Till it reached the peaks of those two mountains tall.
Then were bits of iron and of copper laid
Wheresoe'er the wall a space or gap displayed;
Furnaces the King of Persia next supplied,
Blasts were blown on yonder wall from every side;
Thus the metals melted were and fused in one,
And the Dyke made solid, so that flaw was none. '

Grace from God the Lord was granted, yea, and aid.
So the Dyke was builded in the way I've said.
Gog and Magog on the farther side remain;
Never, never may they hither pass again.
But what time the Eternal One shall give decree.
And the Last Day nears, the Dyke shall riven be ; 2
Through the same shall Gog and Magog issue forth.
And lay waste and spoil the Seven Climes of earth. 3

' The process of building this Dyke is more explicitly set forth in the
Shah-Name. A huge wall, reaching as high as their summits, was built between
the two mountains; this was stopped up and covered over with pieces of
rough iron and copper; the whole structure was then heated red-hot with
hot blasts from innumerable furnaces, and so the pieces of metal were melted
and fused together; the result being that mountains and Dyke formed one
solid mass, through or over which it was impossible to pass.

* This alludes to the tradition (referred to in the Koran, xxi, 96.) that
shortly before the Last Day, Gog and Magog shall be let loose from their
captivity behind Alexander's Dyke.

3 For the Seven Climes, i.e. the whole habitable world, see p. 47, n. i.

290

From the Iskender-Name. [41]
Alexander seeketh the Fountain of Life.

Thence again pushed on the King and his meinie
Till they reached a spot whence they the Mirk could see.

Quoth they ' to the King, ' O Monarch haught and high,
' Yonder Fountain lieth in the Mirk hard by.
'Though but short the stage betwixt that place and here,
'Mickle dour from end to end the way and drear.'

Quoth the King, 'The Lord may smooth for us the road;
' All its rough and smooth can be made one by God.
'■ Seeing how as pain is set by side of gain,
'Needs must he who seeks the gain aby the pain!
'Till that one in Love's behalf do dolour dree,
' Never may he win his heart's beloved to see.'

Then he rose with all his host and went his way,
Straight he pierced within the Mirk that darkling lay.
On they fared amid the gloom and dark a space.
Till, behold, down swept as 'twere the night apace!
Roared the thunder, round them flared the lightning-blaze,
Thou hadst deemed East and West one flaming maze.
Surging wild from forth the heavens, oceans crashed ;
Thronging fast from forth the earth, the torrents dashed.
Such the flood that o'er them burst that Noah's flood
Straightway were o'erwhelmed thereby and quick subdued.
Darkness treading upon darkness, onward pressed,
That the abysmal gloom had fallen, thou hadst guessed.
King and warriors lost their wits and lost their way;
Wandering there, they each from each went far astray.
When they might no longer one the other see.
Far and wide they wandered in perplexity.
Khizr, he who on that journey was the guide,
'Gainst his will was parted from the Monarch's side.
Some of yonder folk the raging floods did drown.
Some the lightning burned, and some the wind cast down ;
Other some were lost with ne'er a trace to tell

' i. c. the guides from Shad-Kam.

291

Whether ilicy were dead or bode alive and well.

When the King beheld this woeful plight he knew
That he ne'er should find the way the Fountain to;
For the thing that is not one's allotted share, —
Howso much he seek it, he shall win to ne'er.
Helpless then and hopeless, back he turned again;
But the road he came by, now he sought in vain.
Faring on, they lighted on a wonder-land.
Where for stones did gleaming jewels strew the sand ;
Some were rubies, some spinels of purest ray,
Some were turkis, — there in heaps untold they lay.
All around lay jewels as the Night-lamp ' bright,
Shone the mountains with those jewels' radiant light.
King and army of those priceless gems a store
Took, and started on their journey drear once more.
On they toiled a space with bitter stress and ghast.
When on sudden forth from out the Mirk they passed.
Then they looked, and saw how full a half their host,
Left behind within the Dark and Mirk, was lost.

Vainly sought they Khizr all the army through,
Whither he was vanished there was none who knew.
Naught of him they knew, but he his way had gone,
And withouten stress the Stream of Life had won.
Seeing how that Water was to him decreed,
Needs must he his portion find, howe'er he speed.
That which unto any is not fore-ordained
Ne'er by him, yea surely, ne'er shall be attained.
That which unto any is the destined share
Shall ere long befall him sans distress or care.
Mid the Mirk Iskender suffered mickle pain ;
Pain it was his portion, Khizr's was the gain.
Ne'er may God's allotment change or turning bear,
Ne'er may any seize another's destined share.

' The fabled gem known as Sheb-chirdgh 'the Night-lamp' is thus described
in the famous Persian dictionary called Burhan-i Qati^: — ' Sheb-chiragh (Night-
lamp): This is a jewel which during the night-time shineth like a lamp. They
say that on certain nights when the water-bull cometh up to land to graze,
he bringeth this jewel with him in his mouth, and settcth it down on the
place where he would graze, and by the light of it doth he graze.'

292

From the Iskender-Name. [42]
Alexander is forewarned of his Death by a Tree.

When the King set out from yonder region there
Came he to a plain with verdure filled and fair,
In the midst whereof there grew a shady tree,
Thou hadst deemed it was the Tuba, ' verily.
So he ordered that the camp should there be pight;
And beneath that tree the King lay down that night.

When that full a half the night was past and gone,
And asleep were all except the Unsleeping One, 2
Yonder tree began to moan and bitter wail,
Saying , ' O much-suffering King who seekest bale !
'How this lust hath made thee wander sans relief!
'What availeth store of wealth if life be brief?
'Now thy life hath touched its end, what makes thee then
' Still so eager and so keen the world to gain ?
' E'en as thou hast seen, thy fortune waxed complete 5
'Know that still completion must declension meet.
'Thou hast reigned as Sovran full four years and ten,
'Yet for e'en one day thou hast not happy been.
' All this hast thou won, yet had thereof no bliss.
' Never saidst thou : " When I die, another's this."
' Lo, thou goest, and thy hoards to others fall.
' Vain thy travail and thy labour, vain it all !
' Ah ! the pity of thy weary stress and pain,
' For that never shall thy hand the treasure gain !'

When the King heard from the tree those words of dole
'Twas as though his body had farewelled his soul.
Sick upon the morn from thence did he arise ;
Dry his lips, but wet with bitter tears his eyes.
On they pushed a while alike by night and day,
Till that once again to Persia come were they.

The following ghazels are from Ahmedi's Diwan.

• For the Tiiba Tree, see p. 36.
'^ i. e. God.

293

Ghazel. [43]

Bear greetings unto yonder belov'd deavling fair, O breeze;
My message give to yonder sweetheart debonair, O breeze.

Spread thou her tresses violet' all o'er her rosy cheek;

Waft ambergris and essences sweet through the air, O breeze, *

Wouldst seek her dwelling? Privily go there, I pray of thee;
Take heed thou show thee not to the vile rival ' there, O breeze.

My secret I've confided to thee, giving thee my trust;
For Heaven's sake to utter it do thou forbear, O breeze.

Do thou present my friendlessness 'fore yonder dearest one;
May be that she will medicine this ill I bear, O breeze.

Say, 'Wherefore still so cruelly wound Ahmedi forlorn?'

To her whose glances troubles bestrew everywhere, O breeze.

Ghazel. [44]

Drunk straight becometh he who to thine eyen falls a prey.
While turns the captive of thy locks from food and sleep away.

My night is through thy tresses the Assignment-Night or Power;*
My day doth through thy face as the Sun's exaltation ray.

' Violet, i. e. dark and sweet-scented tresses.

* Playing with her sweet-scented hair, the breeze wafts abroad delightful
odours.

3 The 'rival' is a constant figure in Eastern love-poetry.

♦ Leylet-ul-Qadr ' the Night of Power,' and Leylet-ul-Berdt ' the Night of
Assignments ' are two of the most sacred nights of the Muslim year.

The Night of Power is that on which the Koran was sent down from
Heaven. It is one of the ten last nights of the month of Ramazan, but opinions
differ as to which; the eve of the 27th. is that held officially. The belief is
that all this night angels are descending from Heaven bringing blessings to
the righteous among the Faithful.

The Night of Assignments, which is the eve of the 15th. of Sha'^ban, is to
the devout the most solemn night in the calander : for it is held that on it
is confirmed the fate of every living man for the ensuing year.

294

One crieth: 'Through thy promise shall I win to reach thy lip!'
See how for him the Water of Life gleams mirage-like aye.

Within thy tresses waileth my heart sore at eventide;
Alway the stranger's portion is sad sorrow, sad dismay.

Like tears from out mine eyen have I this existence shed;
Nay, this beseems me not, that there be veil betwixt us tway. '

E'en though they drain my blood, are my tears water of my face ; 2
Through these the door is opened to my birrning fire to-day.

So be it needful, bear with the Friend's rigour, Ahmedi;
Since liver-blood 3 is turned to pure musk by time in fay. *

Ghazel. [45]

Thy face nor sun nor moon as rival oweth;

And like thy mouth no pearl-filled casket gloweth. ^

Thy hair, it is a handful basil, ^ natheless
. In my sad lot to darksome snake it groweth. ''

Thy glance hath ta'en my soul although I sinned not;
What then my plight an I had sinned — who knoweth ?

1 This couplet may be taken mystically, phenomenal existence being the
veil between the Lover and the Beloved, i. e. between the soul and God.

2 ' Water of the face ' is a metaphor for honour or self-respect. Here the
expression is used both literally and metaphorically. The tears are said to
drain the blood in allusion to an idea already mentioned (p. 217, n. i.) They
open a door to the fire of love in the heart, as through them the anguish
of passion finds vent. The juxtaposition of the names of the elements is
reckoned a beauty in this style of poetry.

3 With the Oriental, as with the earlier European, poets the liver is the
seat of passion, the heart being that of affection.

* Alluding to the fact that musk is obtained from the fluid contained
in a cyst or gland near the navel of the musk-deer. This fluid dries into the
brown substance used as a perfume.

5 The mouth of a beauty is sometimes compared to a ruby casket filled
with pearls, the pearls of course being the teeth.

6 The comparison of the hair to basil is not uncommon.

'' The comparison of the curl of a beauty to a deadly snake is a common-
place of Eastern poetry.

295

Attained had 1 the goal on thy Love's pathway,
If so my luck had been a steed that goeth.

To talk of gems anent thy lip were shameful,
To talk of jet beside thy mole thus showeth. '

A-yeaming ever for thy violet tresses,

My heart now moans and now its weeping floweth.

Be God alway the Guardian of thy beauty! —
Such blessing Ahmedi on thee bestoweth.

Ghazel. [46]

He who thy bright face the rose, thy locks the basil fair, hath made,
This my heart distraught and frenzied through thy love for e'er hath made.

Telleth each some diff'rent story of the nature of thy form;

Clear is this, that God the same of Him to witness bear hath made.

Know not I what way to bring to voice the story of thy mouth ; 2
For that God a hidden secret of that Essence 3 rare hath made.

Troublous is thine eye and languishful this day; O may it be

Yonder witch black-hearted dire and fell a wound e'en there hath made?*

' Thy lip is so much redder than the ruby, thy mole is so much blacker
than jet.

' The smallness of the beauty's mouth has already been referred to (p. 217,
n. 5.). It is hard to describe that which scarcely exists (being so small).

3 The word gevher (jevher) means the essential nature of a thing, and
this of course cannot be described in words. But there is an I'hdm or amphi-
bology here ; gevher means also a jewel, and it is usual for the sake of
security to keep jewels in some secret place. This same word gevher (in the
Arabicised form of jevher) enters into the term jevher-i ferd or atom; the
connection between the atom and the mouth of the beloved we have already
seen (p. 217, n. 5.).

♦ This couplet is obscure ; it seems to mean : ' thine eye, O beloved, is to-
day more than usually full of languor; perhaps that black-hearted witch (itself)
has stricken its eye (itself).' The 'black-hearted witch' being of course the
beloved's black-pupiled eye which ensorcels lovers, the idea would be that
her eye has bewitched itself, i. e. that she has looked upon and fallen in
love with her own beauty, and is therefore filled with languishment.

296

Let them seek thee, thou art Khizr's and Iskender's goal; for God
That thy lip Life's Fount, the Darkness that thy dusky hair hath made. '

Loosed the west wind mid thy fragrant locks one tress at morning-tide;
Yea, 'tis yonder waft that ambergris-perfumed the air hath made.

He who decked thy face with hyacinth 2 and basil and narcisse, 3
He 'tis Ahmedi that garden's praises to declare hath made.

Ghazel. " [47]

What vision Thou who 'rt in entirety light ! ^

Who 'rt such that shows the sun less plenteously light.

To me full clear it is since I have seen Thee
That sun and moon win from Thy visnomy light.

A breath of Love from Thee reached dawn, and therefore
Are land and sea for joyous ecstasy light.

The eve 's a scantling darkness from Thy tresses,
The dawn is from Thy face a summary light.

Did but Thy beauty's sun shine out in splendour.
Were every atom in existency light.

If flash Thy Face unveiled at the Last Judgment,
Will hell-fire gleam in sheeny radiancy light.

For this 'tis Ahmedi for Thy Love burnetii : —
By burning doth the taper come to be light.

1 We have not had to wait long for an example of the fancies suggested
by the story of Alexander and the Water of Life.

2 The fragrant hyacinth is the commonest of all the conventional com-
parisons for a beauty's curling tresses.

3 The narcissus is the most usual of the comparisons for the eye.

* In imitation of the method followed in the original, a weak syllable
immediately preceding the redif (light) is made to bear the rhyme-stress in
the translation. To get the effect of the Turkish, the last syllable in the words
'entirety,' 'plenteously,' 'visnomy' etc. must be slightly accentuated, although
this being foreign to our usage, is unpleasing to the English ear.

5 This ghazel is throughout mystic in purjDort.

297

The ghazcl that follows is given as an example of those
written in praise of Mir Sulman, probably Prince Suleyman;
and is no better than court-poetry is wont to be.

Ghazel. [48]

Mir Sulman (may God defend him!), when he drains the bowl of wine,
From the fountain of his visage lustrous doth the radiance shine.

Clear as noontide is the purport of 'Their Lord shall give them drink,'*
Whensoe'er unto his servants proffers he the bowl of wine.

When the Drinker lights the beaker, 2 from the Unseen World a voice
Soundeth through the skies proclaiming, 'Hail to thee! Sultan benign!'

Lo, his feast is Paradisal, here be Rizwdn's ^ houris fair;

Yea, and fruit and wine and taper, harp and rebeck, all as digne.

Who is he who quaffs the wine with him ? One draught of such an one
Straightway would a thousand senses unto drunkenness consign.

Howsoever much he drink, his understanding clearer grows;
Sugar is 't he drinks, or water fi-om Life's Stream, I can't divine.

Whoso meeteth him in battle Mars or Saturn ♦ would declare ;
Whoso seeth him in banquet would the sun-bright Moon opine.

Rolling thunder is his slogan, and a lightning-flash his whip,
Yea, a thunderbolt his sabre, and his shafts do meteors shine.

' In the Koran, Ixxvi, 21, it is written concerning the blessed in Paradise:
' On them shall be garments of green embroidered satin and brocade ; and
they shall be adorned with bracelets of silver; and their Lord shall give
them to drink pure drink !' Here the last phrase is detached from the context
and audaciously applied to the entertainment of his boon-companions by
the Prince.

* i. e. when the Prince fills it with bright wine.

3 Rizwan, the angel who has charge of Paradise, has already been mentioned.

* Saturn and Mars are the two malefic planets in astrology.

298

Sheen of battle and of banquet, Ornament of crown and throne;
Such is he among the people, ' and God knoweth best' ' in fine.

Ahmedi, and so thou seek thee fortune, never absent be

From yon Prince's feast, for this the saying, ' 'tis the absent tine.' 2

1 \^\yal\.i A.Jlf:\ isi.^' ^ 'and God knoweth best,' a constantly quoted

Arabic phrase.

2 v-)Li> v_jL£ ..yA 'whoso is absent suffereth loss,' a well-known Arabic
proverb.

CHAPTER VI.

The RoMA^'CISTS (continued)

S h e y k h i.

Sheykhi, whose name, as we have seen, Lati'fi couples in
a somewhat suspicious story with that of Ahmedi, is a figure
of considerable importance in the history of Turkish literature;
for it is by him that the Persian artistic mesnevi was intro-
duced among the Western Turks. This poet, whose personal
name was Sinan, was born in Kutahiya the capital of the
little state of Germiyan, the birthplace of so many of the
poets of those days. If we are to trust the Crimson Peony,
Sheykhi studied first under Ahmedi. Somewhat later, according
to all the authorities, he became a disciple of the famous
mystic teacher and saint Hajji Beyram of Angora, ' under
whose tuition he attained a high point in Siifiistic lore. Latifi
speaks of a journey to Persia undertaken in early life for
the purpose of visiting the saints and sages of that land ;
but none of the other biographers refers to any such expe-

1 Hajji Beyram is a celebrated saint and the Pir or spiritual chief of the
Beyrdmi dervish-order. He was bom at a village near Angora, in which city
he spent most part of his life, dying there in 833 (1429-30). He used, we
are told, to supply his needs by the labour of his own hands, giving away
in charity whatever was offered to him by the rich. Certain traducers having
misrepresented him to Murad H, he was summoned to Adrianople, where
the Sultan then was, when his gentle and holy demeanour so won the heart
of the monarch that he implored his blessing. His tomb in Angora is still a
place of pious visitation.

300

dition. Indeed, according to the Crimson Peony, after his
studies with Hajji Beyram, Sheykhi settled in a place near
his native Kutahiya whence he never stirred during the rest
of his life. Here too he died and was buried ; and here his
tomb was visited by the author Tash-kopri-zade who, as
the reader may have observed, had a great fondness for
visiting the last resting-places of learned and holy men.
Assuming the account in the Crimson Peony to be correct
(and its simplicity commends it), if there be any truth in
Lati'fi's statement that Sheykhi made the acquaintance at
Brusa of the gifted and intrepid poet Nesimi (of whom more
in the next chapter), this must have occurred before the
former settled down at Kutahiya.

According to Tash-kopri-zade, who quotes the authority
of his teacher ^i\la-ud-Din '^Arebi, Sheykhi was mean-looldng
in person, and was moreover blear-eyed. In the latter connec-
tion the same author tells the following story, which has been
copied by ^Ashiq, Hasan and "^Ali. In order to eke out his
living, Sheykhi, who was of great repute as a physician, and
especially as an oculist, was in the habit of preparing a
powder which he sold at a small price to those whose eyes
were weak. One day a man of some intelligence and wit
happened to pass by the place where the poet was dispensing
his simples, and gathering from the inflamed state of the
vender's own eyes that he was but ' throwing dust in the
eyes' ' of the people, he asked for an asper's worth of the
powder, on receiving which he handed Sheykhi two aspers,
saying sarcastically, 'Buy some of your powder with this
second asper and annoint your own eyes therewith; it may
be that through the grace of God they will be healed !'

1 This expression represents both the literal and figurative senses of the
analogous Turkish phrase used in the original: khalqiii gozlerini boyardi, 'he
was painting the eyes of the folk,' i. e. cheating them.

301

Sheykhi, it is added, was greatly pleased with the speaker's
wit, and used always to laugh when he recalled the incident.
I have said that Sheykhi was famed for his skill in medi-
cine; this is mentioned by all the biographers. Latffi even
says that in his lifetime he was popularly known as Hekim
Sinan or Doctor Sindn. Possibly the following anecdote,
which first appears in '^Ashiq, may be to some extent the
offspring of this side of the poet's reputation. Sultan Mehemmed
the Debonair was lying grievously ill, and search was made
far and near for a skilful physician. Sheykhi was found and
brought before the royal patient, and when he had felt the
Sultan's pulse and looked at his eyes, he said, ' The denser
humours ' have become mingled ; the cure for this ill is an
exceeding joy.' Just then a courier arrived bringing news
of the capture of a great and well-nigh impregnable fortress,
news which so delighted Mehemmed that he straightway
began to regain his spirits, and day by day his health con-
tinued to improve till ere long it was quite restored. By
way of rewarding the physician for his skill, the Sultan
granted him as a fief a village called Doquzlar, 2 apparently

' The 'four humours' (akhlat-i erba'^a) of the early physicians were choler
i. e. bile (safra) , phlegm (balgham), blood (dert) and melancholy (sevda).
The last of these, which was sometimes called ' atrabile ' or ' black bile,' was
an imaginary thick black fluid, supposed when in excess to be the cause of
the feeling of depression which is still named from it 'melancholy.' Food was
supposed to be converted into these four humours by a process of 'cooking'
that went on in the liver. What answered to the froth on a pot of soup boiling
on the fire, was changed into choler or bile 5 what corresponded to the half-
cooked rice or vegetables floating on the surface, became phlegm ; what
represented the good wholesome soup itself, became blood 5 while what took
the place of the sediment at the bottom of the pot, was turned into melan-
choly. Health was regarded as the result of the proper relationship of those
humours to one another; and when this relationship was disturbed, disease
ensued. By their relative proportions, moreover, a person's physical and mental
qualities were held to be determined. This system, which is as old as Hippo-
crates, was maintained, even in the West, until the beginning of the eighteenth
centur)'. By the ' denser humours ' the blood and the melancholy are meant.

2 Some of the biographers call this village Doquzlu.

302

oblivious of the fact that this village was already the property
of another. Be this as it may, as Sheykhi was travelling to
his new possession, the original lord of Doquzlar fell upon
him, plundered his baggage, slew his attendants, and left
him lying wounded and half-dead upon the road. By and
by, when he had recovered from his wounds, the poet
embodied this adventure in a versified narrative which he
named the Khar-Name or 'Book of the Ass,' and in which
he vigorously satirized his enemy. By means of this book
the Sultan was made aware of what had occurred, whereupon
he punished the author of the outrage and compelled him
to indemnify Sheykhi for the loss he had sustained.

Such is the story told by '^Ashiq and repeated by Hasan
and '^Ali, a story not altogether easy to reconcile with Tash-
kopri-zade's statement that Sheykhi never left the place
near Kutahiya whither he retired on finishing his studies at
Angora. Possibly a desire to account for the composition
of the Khar-Name may have had some influence in moulding
the details of the narrative.

Concerning that poem '^Ali tells us that as no one could
be found willing to bring under the notice of the Sultan a
work with so unseemly a title as ' The Book of the Ass,' an
extra letter dal (d) was slipped in after the ri (r) which changed
the name into Khired-Name or 'The Book of Wisdom.' It
is noteworthy that while there is no entry in Katib Chelebi's
lexicon under the title of Khar-Name, among those under
Khirad-Name we find 'a Turkish poem by Mevlana Sheykhi
of Germiyan who wrote it for Sultan Mehemmed the son
of the Thunderbolt.'

Of this Khar-Name or Khired-Name I can give no account,
as I have never seen a copy or come across any adequate
description of its nature or contents. All I have been able
to learn is from an anonymous note in the printed edition

303

of Latifi, whore moreover a difteront account is given of the
occasion of its composition. It is there said that when Sheykhi
presented his poem of 'Khusrev and Shirin' to Sultan Murad,
certain persons, jealous of the poet's skill, declared his work
to be nothing more than a translation from Nizami and
therefore unworthy of praise or reward, whereupon Sheykhi
wrote this Khar-Name in which he satirizes those malevolent
critics. This story would fit better with Tash-kopri-zade's
statement that Sheykhi never quitted Kutahiya ; but the
difficulty in accepting it is that Sheykhi died before he had
completed the Khusrev and Shirin, and it is not likely that he
would present to the Sultan a work that was still in progress.
In the same note are quoted fourteen couplets, the only
extract from the work that I have seen. These describe a
poor hungry ass, whose master, taking compassion on him,
turns him out to graze in a rich pasture, where he sees
many fat oxen regaling themselves. In the absence of the
context it is impossible to say what this picture refers to ;
possibly Sheykhi is the poor lean ass whose master the Sultan
would provide for him, while the fat oxen may represent
his enemies.

Far more important than this satire is Sheykhi's long and
beautiful romantic poem on the loves of Khusrev and Shirin.
This work, by which alone the author is now remembered,
was begun some time after the accession of Murad which
took place in 824 (142 1). The author unhappily died before
he had quite finished the poem. The year of his death is
unrecorded, but it cannot have been later than 855 (145 1),
that of the death of Sultan Murad, as that prince is eulogized
as the reigning monarch in the brief epilogue wherein another
writer tells us that Sheykhi is dead, having left his work
unfinished. This other writer is said by "^Ashiq, Hasan and
^Ali (the earlier biographers Latifi and Tash-kopri-zade are

304

silent on the subject) to have been Sheykhi's sister's son
Jemah'; but in the epilogue he calls himself Bayezid and
says nothing whatever as to any relationship or connection
between himself and the dead poet. '

The biographers are at one in declaring Sheykhi to have
been a man of great learning. According to Latifi he was
deeply versed alike in exoteric and esoteric lore, and most
notably in the mystic philosophy; for although he never
gave himself out as a teacher of Siifiism, he attained that
lofty 'Station' on the mystic Journey where the saint, in
ecstatic union with God, contemplates the Divine Essence
free from any attribute conceived by thought. And should
any doubt this assertion, Latifi refers him to the opening
and closing cantos of the Khusrev and Shiri'n where the poet
discourses on the Degrees in the Perception of the Unity ^
and on the Classes of the Epiphanies. Of the medical know-
ledge with which, as we have seen, the biographers credit
Sheykhi, there is no evidence in his poem. Unlike Ahmedi,
once he is fairly launched upon his story, he confines him-
self pretty closely to it. Apart from the opening cantos,
which professedly deal with mystic matters, in one place
only does the author make any display of his knowledge
of science. This is in the very last pages that he lived to

1 In a MS. of Sheykhi's Khusrev u Shi'n'n transcribed in 919 (15 13-4),
in my collection, the rubric to the epilogue runs : v_Ji.J^/o iM'^r ^^^5 .lAJi
j^alrixax! ^^j iAjjjIj \,\^[xS' /•jO.i' J..*,'S ^ *,.♦.=> Jl »,*.ic -.^x^ *_jLa^

l^.^XvJs'lii -.il4.>.Aji iA.4.s>! ^"^^i-^ ry^ 'Touching the Dying of the Author
of the Book, Sheykhi (upon whom be mercy!), and the Completing of the
Book by Bayezid the son of Mustafa the son of Sheykh Ahmed the Interpreter
of Aq-Shehr.'

Katib Chelebi says that the Khusrev and Shirin was finished by Jemali,
Sheykhi's brother. It is ' possible that Bayezid may have been the personal
name and Jemali the pen-name of the same individual.

2 ^llm-i Tevhid, see p. 166, n. 6.

305

write; here the sage lUizurg-Umid is made, in answer to
the inquiries of the King, to give an account of the creation
through the medium of the Primal IntelHgence, and to describe
the work of the successive Emanations in ruHng the planetary
spheres, the elements and so on. In fact, this portion of
the poem is practically a treatise on the theoretic philosophy
of those days, a philosophy which, as we have seen, was
accepted by most of the learned of the time, and held con-
currently with Siifiism or with orthodox Islam, or, most
usually, with a combination of both.

The recorded literary works of Sheykhi consist of the
already-mentioned Khar-Name (or Khired-Name), a Diwan
of lyric poems, and the famous mesnevi of Khusrev and Shiri'n.
Concerning the first of these, I can add to what I have already
said only the fact that it is written neither in the familiar
metre of the Iskender-Name nor in that used by the author
in his Khusrev and Shi'rin, but in an altogether new variety,
that known as khafi'f. ' Likewise with the Di'wan ; I have
never seen a copy, and from the few stray fragments quoted
by the biographers, it is impossible to form any independent
opinion as to its value. The authorities, however, are unani-
mous in declaring that the poet was much less successful
with the ghazel than with the mesnevi.

It is, as has been said, solely through the Khusrev and
Shi'rin that Sheykhi occupies his prominent position in Turkish
literature. - It is in this poem that grace of style and beauty
of language are for the first time deliberately sought after
in mesnevi verse. Hitherto, whatever grace and beauty had
been achieved had found expression in the lyric forms alone;

' See p. 109.

2 The Khusrev u Shfria has not yet been published, but a few extracts
from it will be found in the third volume of the Khardbat. The British
Museum possesses three complete MSS. (Add. 7906: Or. 2708: Or. 3294.),
and one imperfect (Add. 19, 451). There is a perfect copy in my collection.

3o6

while in such mesnevis as had been written, directness and
simpHcity, not elegance or curiosity, had been the qualities
aimed at. That this beauty and refinement should have been
sought for almost exclusively through the medium of the
art of Bedi"^ or Euphuism is perhaps regrettable, but was
of course inevitable. What is important to note, is that the
step here taken by Sheykhi — the introduction into mesnevi
of the Persian euphuism which had already seized upon the
lyric poetry — determined what was to be during two cen-
turies the note of the Ottoman metrical romance.

The Khusrev and Shi'rin of Sheykhi is a fairly close trans-
lation of Nizami's poem of the same name. The fact that
it was such a translation did not militate against its success
or popularity. For although the style was so far removed
from the everyday speech that a just appreciation must have
been impossible to those without some knowledge of Persian,
it was a novelty to all to see the famous old romance in
a Turkish dress.

The early Ottoman critics are at one in doing honour to
the old poet who first of his countrymen essayed to present
a story in literary guise. Latifi gratefully says that it is
from him the poets of Rum learned grace of style in mesnevi,
and that these have done no more therein than follow in
his footsteps; while he adds that though many have endeav-
oured to 'parallel' the Khusrev and Shi'rin, none has suc-
ceeded in surpassing it. "^Ashiq, while admitting that in matter
it is little else than a translation, praises it for its strength
and force and for the high level it maintains throughout.
Comparing it with later famous Turkish romantic mesnevis,
that writer declares that though Ahi's poem of the same
name is full of grace and pith, and Hamdi's Joseph and
Zelikha is clear and lucid, and Kemal-Pasha-zade's Joseph
and Zelikha is artistic and ingenious, and Ja'^fer Chelebi's

307

Heves-Name is distinguished by eloquence, and the poems
of LamiS' are brilhant ami fluent, ' Sheykhi's Khusrev and
Shin'n yet holds its own and is famous far and wide throughout
the lanil. Hasan endorses the verdict of "^Ashiq. '^Alf speaks
of many of the lines from Sheykhi's poem as being household
words, and quotes a passage describing an interview between
the hero and heroine as an example of vivid representation.
Sheykhi, it may be remarked, is with the exception of Su-
leyman Chelebi, the only poet of the First Period whom
Ziya Pasha mentions in the preface to his Anthology. The
modern author, it is true, can see nothing in the old roman-
cist except uncouthness of language ; but the compiler of
the Kharabat, though a remarkable and in some respects
a highly gifted man, did not possess the critical faculty.

Looked at from our point of view, Sheykhi appears as
an extremely skilful adapter. He saw that to completely and
effectually graft the Persian system into the nascent literature
of his people it was needful to bring the mesnevi — so far
the most important poetical form — into line with the qasida
and ghazel. He thereupon took a story which he found ready
to his hand, carefully studied the manner in which it had
been dealt with by the Persian master, and set to work
to reproduce this manner with all its peculiarities as closely
as possible, using every effort to make his innovations blend
harmoniously, always on the long-established lines, with the
native material in which he was working.

The effect was revolutionary. All uncertainty as to which
prosodial system should prevail disappears for ever. A studied
grace of language and a laborious search for curiosity in idea
and in expression, almost equal to what already was the
rule in the lyric forms, replaces the more homely if ruder

' These poets all belong to the Second Period, and will claim our attention
in due course.

3o8

vocabulary and the more direct though less ingenious phra-
seology of the earlier mesnevis. That the time was ripe for
the change is clearly shown alike by the popularity which
the work attained and by the fact that all subsequent mes-
nevis were modelled on the lines therein laid down. Whether
the change thus accomplished by Sheykhi was to the real
advantage of Turkish poetry is, however, open to serious
question. It is true that thereby the cultivation of what we
may call wit — of grace, refinement and ingenuity — was
greatly fostered; but this was at the price of not only spon-
taneity and straightforwardness, but too often, it is to be
feared, of sincerity. Naturalness was superseded by affectation.

But it would be unfair to blame the author for this; Sheykhi
was before all things an artist, and no other path of art was
open to him than that along which the force of circumstances
was impelling his countrymen. In reality this poet deserves
much praise; for it is he who first showed the Turks how
to tell a story artistically. Ahmedi had not attempted this;
his narrative, set forth in the baldest language and constantly
interrupted by irrelevant digressions, has no pretensions to
being a work of art; whereas Sheykhi was constrained by
the same instinct that led him to shun the continual inter-
ruptions which destroy the unity of the Iskender-Name, to
make of his own book a thing of beauty by the employment
of the choicest and most perfect forms of expression he could
devise.

Sheykhi is consequently ahead of all previous writers of
mesnevi in matters of technique. He has no hesitation as to
prosody, and with him halting lines are few and far between.
One of his most noteworthy innovations is his adoption of a
new metre. Hitherto all West-Turkish poems in mesnevi form
— the Rebab-Name of Veled, the Gharib-Name of ''Ashiq,
the Mevlid of Suleyman, the Iskender-Name of Ahmedi —

309

have been written in one and the same metre, the hex-
ametric remel, that which had been chosen by Jelal-ud-Din
for his great work. Sheykhi for the first time breaks new
ground, ami writes his Khusrev and Shiri'n in a fresh measure,
a hexametric variation of the hezej, ' that of Ni/.ami's poem
on the same theme. In so doing Sheykhi not only opened
a wider field to the Turkish poets, he dealt a fatal blow
to the supremacy of the old remel. Henceforward mesnevis
are composed now in one metre novv- in another, as the
fancy of the poet may determine; there is none that can
claim universal favour, least of all that which in early times
reigned undisputed.

Another of Sheykhi's innovations destined to take lasting
root is the introduction of lyrics into the body of the mes-
nevi. •^ These lyrics, which are almost always ghazels (there
are four qasidas and one terji'^-bend in the Khusrev and
Shi'n'n), are generally presented as being sung by one or
other of the actors in the romance in moments of excite-
ment or exaltation. The idea of introducing such lyrics, w^hich
may be in any metre the poet pleases, is certainly a happy
one, as they break to some extent the monotony of the
mesnevi in w^hich line follows line through several thousand
couplets without so much as the alteration of a single accent.
That Sheykhi did not derive this idea from Nizami whom
as a rule he closely follows, is certain, for there are no such
lyric interludes in the work of the great poet of Genje; but
whether he adopted it from some other Persian writer or
himself devised it, I cannot say. If he did devise it (which
is the less likely alternative), he must have possessed a quite

'' See p. 107.

' We have seen that in the episode of Gul-Shdh in the Iskender-Name a
number of ghazels are introduced into the mesnevi; and this is one of the
considerations which have inclined us to regard that episode as an inter-
polation.

3IO

unusual originality of which he has given no other evidence. *
It is important to note that with Sheykhi's Khusrev and
Shin'n the language of poetry definitively breaks away from
the language of everyday life. All previous writers of mes-
nevi (and all the important poetry had hitherto been in this
form) had made use of a plain simple language such as
everyone might understand and use. Sheykhi put an end
to this. By devoting his exceptional talent to the work of
introducing into the more serious form of poetry the artificial
dialect of the lyric writers, who had so far been rather players
and triflers with the art than its earnest cultivators, he did
more than perhaps any other to the fixing of that- great
gulf between the language of literature and the speech of
the people, which yawned ever wider with the centuries, and
which has been partially bridged over only in our own day.
Sheykhi chose well when he selected the tale of Khusrev
and Shirin as his theme ; for the story of Shfrin the Sweet
is the prettiest and most interesting of the dozen or so
legends that go to make up the repertory of the Eastern
romantic poet. It may be called an historical romance,
the hero, Khusrev-i Perviz, being the Sasanian King whom
the Byzantines named Chosroes II. Nizami, who first put
the story into verse, drew most of his materials from the
early historian Taberi, 2 to whom Sheykhi also had recourse
when he wished to check or supplement the statements of
his model. For the Turkish poet was no blind copyist; he
did not hesitate to improve upon his predecessor when he

' The circumstance that the Jamesb-Name, a contemporary romantic mes-
nevi, contains, as we shall see in a later chapter, a number of ghazels sim-
ilarly introduced, tells against the likelihood of Sheykhi's being the originator
of this development.

2 Taberi, who wrote in Arabic a very famous universal history, was born
in the old Persian province of Taberistan in 224 (838-9) , and died in Baghdad
in 310 (922-3).

thought such an operation desirable. In two instances in
particular did he depart from Nizamfs lead ; the first of
these is in the account of the rebellion of Behram-i Chiibin,
to which he devotes an entire dastan, whereas the Persian
poet dismisses it in a chapter or two; ' the second is in the
prominence which he gives to Buzurg-Umid's discourse con-
cerning the creation of the universe and other recondite
matters, a discourse which, though left unfinished, runs through
several chapters and would probably have occupied a whole
dastan, and which Nizami rounds off in a few lines. Whether
Sheykhi was well advised in the introduction of this addi-
tional matter admits of question. With regard to the Behram
incident, it may be pleaded that this gives more complete-
ness to the story; but it is in no wise essential to the
development of the plot; while the lecture of the sage is
only too much after the fashion of Ahmedi. Both additions
are in themselves interesting; but by distracting the attention
of the reader, they are hurtful to the unity of the poem,
and in introducing them, Sheykhi, departing from his wont,
allowed the scholar to prevail over the artist.

The story of Khusrev and Shirin was dealt with by several
subsequent Turkish poets, among the best known being Jelili
and Ahi, both of whom flourished somewhere about a cen-
tury later. - But none of these more recent poems ever
achieved anything like the popularity won and retained by
this earliest of all, the quaint old Germiyan Turkish of which,
with its long-obsolete words and forms, seems to harmonize

' Sheykhi distinctly says that Nizdmi who tells the story (of Khusrev and
Shirin) does not inform us of the events which led up to this revolt, but
that he, having found them in history books, will give them in detail.

* KdtiS Chelebi cites further two poets whom he calls respectively Khalifa
and Mu'^idi-zade as having composed mesnevis on this subject. I am unable
to identify the first: the second is probably the Mu''idi mentioned by Latifi
as a contemporary of his own and as having written a ' Response ' to Nizami's
Quintet.

312

well with the old-world story of the gallant King and the
brave and lovely Princess.

Had it been completed, the book would no doubt have
consisted of the customary three divisions: Prologue, Subject
and Epilogue. As it is, we have only the first of these and
a part (though a large part) of the second. This was never
finished; the brief epilogue added by another hand merely
announces the death of the poet and winds up with some
common-place lines eulogizing the reigning Sultan. No date
of composition is anywhere mentioned ; but as the panegyrics
both in the prologue and the epilogue speak of Murad II
as the occupant of the throne, the poem was most likely
written during his reign which, as already said, extended
from 824 (1421) to 855 (145 1). '

The prologue consists, as is usual, of a number of cantos
dealing with religious subjects, including the expositions of
certain Siifiistic technicalities praised so highly by Latifi.
In the midst of these is a qasida concerning a couplet in
which the biographer Riyazi tells this story. - One day the
famous Sheykh Aq Shems-ud-Din, a contemporary of Mehem-
med the Conqueror, and the father of the well-known poet
Hamdi, was seated amid his pupils; but instead of discoursing
to them as usual, he appeared to be absorbed in contem-
plation and oblivious to all around, only uttering from time
to time the words ' O Germiyan ! O Germiyan ! ' Those present
were bewildered at his conduct till at length he said to them,
'I behold in my vision the Heavenly Host, and they dervish-
dancing, and the words of their litany are these lines of
Sheykhi of Germiyan: —

' Both "^Ashiq and ^Ali say that Sheykhi began his Khusrev and Shirin
duiing Murad's reign; Hasan says it was undertaken at that monarch's
command.

2 Von Hammer says that this story is told also by Sehi.

3^3

Ne'er may Reason yield us tidings of Thy Godhead's caravan ;
Only soft unto the Soul's ear is there borne a cliime of bells.' •

The religious and mystic cantos are followed by that
'Touching the Reason of the Writing of the iMiok.' In this
Sheykhi says that one day when sorrow was bearing him
company, his Hatif-i Jan or 'Inward Monitor' addressed
liini, asking why he is thus sick at heart, and bidding him
be up and doing, for it may be trul}' said of him whose
name lives on in tlie world that he never dies; and he him-
self may win such immortality, for the gift of poetry has
been bestowed on him. fie is then exhorted to write a
mesnevi; for, he is told, that though he may be strong in
the ghazel, yet it is the mesnevi which is the touchstone of
the coin of eloquence. The poet seeks to excuse himself,
partly on the score of his lack of ability, but chiefly because
the people of his day have no taste or discernment in
things literary, and that to write for them were labour in
vain. But the Inward Monitor rejects these excuses, telling
him that it matters not though he see none about him to
appreciate his work, for his verses will take wing and fly
to those who know their value; and bidding him in the
meantime hope for grace from God and for help from the
enlightened patronage of the Sultan, on whose name he is
commanded to build his work. This is followed by two cantos
and a qasida in honour of Sultan Murad, which bring the
prologue to a close.

The poet then enters on his proper subject, the story of

The beasts in a caravan wear bells, and thus the caravan may sometimes
be heard passing even when it is out of sight.

The idea in the verse is that reason is powerless to tell aught concerning
the Godhead, and that even the soul is aware of Its existence only through
the phenomena of which it is conscious.

314

Khusrev and Shirin. Of this we have nine complete Books,
called as usual Dastans or 'Legends,' and one unfinished.
These carry the narrative down to the nuptials of the hero
and heroine, and, as little except the final catastrophe remains
to tell, it is unlikely that even had the life of the author
been prolonged, the poem would have contained more than
eleven or twelve of such Books.

The epilogue, which consists of just over a hundred couplets,
is divided into two cantos, the first announcing the death
of Sheykhi, the second devoted to the praises of Sultan
Murad. It is, as we have seen, the work of a writer who
calls himself Bayezid, but whom the biographers call Jemali.

Here is an outline of the story of Khusrev and Shirin as
told by Sheykhi : — '

Khusrev-i Perviz, the son of King Hurmuz of Persia, is
educated by the sage Buzurg-Umid (Great Hope), and
grows up an accomplished and valiant prince. The King,
full of gratitude to Heaven for his gallant son, determines
to rule with yet greater justice than before, and issues a
proclamation that whosoever wrongs his neighbour shall be
visited with condign punishment. One day, when Hurmuz
is seated giving judgment, some villagers come into his
presence and complain that last evening, when returning
from one of his frequent hunting expeditions, the Prince
had entered their village and caroused all night in one of
their houses to the music of his minstrel; furthermore, that
his horse had broken loose and trampled down a poor man's
corn, while one of his slaves had entered a garden and
stolen some unripe grapes. Hurmuz is enraged at his son's

' Khusrev-i Perviz (Chosroes II) was the son of Hurmuz IV (Hormisdas IV)
and grandson of the great Niishirewdn (Chosroes I). Having in A. D. 591
defeated tlie rebel Behram-i Chiibin (Varanes VI) who had usurped the
throne on the death of Hurmuz in 590, he reigned over the Persian Empire
till A. D. 628, when he was murdered by his son Shiruya (Siroes).

315

conduct ; he orders the horse to be given to the owner of
the corn, the slave to the proprietor of the garden, and
the Prince's trappings and accoutrements to the man in
whose house he passed the night. He is further about to
condemn his son, but on the intercession of the nobles par-
dons him on his confessing his misdemeanour. Shortly after
this, Khusrev sees in a vision his grandsire Niishirewan who
tells him that since at his father's bidding he has cheerfully
given up his minstrel and his horse, his slave and his accou-
trements, he shall get for the first a singer sweeter yet,
whose name shall be Barbiid, for the second a steed called
Shebdiz, * fleeter than the thought of man, for the third an
all-lovely mistress whose name shall be Shirin, ^ and for the
last the glorious throne Taqdis.

One day not long after this a friend of Khusrev's, Shawiir '
by name, a cunning artist and a great traveller, tells the
Prince, in course of a conversation, that in his wanderings
he has passed through a charming country called Armenia,
which is governed by a great queen, Mehin * Banii, who is
famous among the monarchs of Christendom. The heir of
this princess is her niece the lovely Shirin, a peerless beauty,
of whose heavenly charms Shawur treats Pervi'z to a glowing
description. This enchanting lady is given to roaming the
country at the head of three hundred fair maidens, engaged
in long picnic parties and hunting expeditions. Mehin Banii
has further a matchless steed, night-black in hue, and Shebdiz
by name. Khusrev is struck by the identity of the names
in Shawiir's story with those in his dream; and having fallen
in love with Shirin from his friend's account of her, he sends

' Shebdiz, i. e. ' Night-hued,' Khusrev's coal-black charger is the Horse
Bayard of Eastern romance.

' The name Shirin, which means ' S\v6et,' might be translated as ' Dulcinea.'
' Sheykhi always writes ShawUr, but ShapiSr (Sapor) is the more usual form.
* This name is so pointed in the MS. but it ought perhaps to be Mihin.

3i6

that friend off to Armenia to try to arrange matters there*
Shawiir arrives at a monastery in Armenia where he learns
that Shirin and her maids are expected immediately to bivouac
in a meadow hard by. The Persian accordingly paints a
portrait of Khusrev which he hangs on a tree in a place
where Shirin will see it, and then hides himself. Shirin and
her maids arrive, she finds the picture, is greatly impressed
by the beauty it portrays, weeping over it and kissing it.
Her maidens seeing how deeply the picture affects her, manage
to get hold of it, and secretly tear it up; they tell her that
the demon who displayed it has hidden it, and persuade
her to leave the place as it is haunted. Shawiir, who has
seen and heard all, is before them, and hangs up another
similar picture in the place whither they are going. The same
thing happens over again ; and Shawur hangs up a third picture
in the third place. This time Shi'rin keeps the picture, and
sends her maids to look whether anyone is hiding near.
Shawur, thinking it time to disclose himself, comes forward
disguised as a priest; and after getting Shirin to make her
attendants retire, he tells her that the pictures were painted
by himself and represent Prince Khusrev-i Perviz, whose
praises he extols, and who, he goes on to say, is deeply in
love with her, and sends her as token a ring, which Shawur
hands to her. Shirin replies confessing her love for Khusrev,
and praying to be directed to Meda^in the Persian capital.
Shawur, having directed her, departs ; and she and her maidens
return to Mehin Banii, and that very night she prevails
upon her aunt to lend her Shebdiz to go a-hunting on the
morrow. So next morning she arms herself, mounts the night-
black steed, and sets out with her maids. Pretending to chase
a deer, she easily makes her escape from the maidens, none
of whose horses can come near Shebdiz. So after vainly
seeking for their mistress, the girls return to Mehin, who is

317

sadly grieved at Shin'n's disappearance. That lady, after
riding for seven days, feels tired and dismounts to rest. She
commends herself to God and then falls asleep, but is soon
awakenetl by Shebdi'z neighing, when she sees a lion approach-
ing, which she kills with an arrow. Going on, she reaches
a meadow in the midst of which is a fair pond in which
she determines to bathe, being tired and dust-stained from
her journey. She accordingly ties up her arms on Shebdi'z,
makes him fast to a tree, and having stripped, binds a blue
cloth about her waist, and descends into the stream.

In the meantime, certain persons at Meda^in, jealous of
Khusrev, liave accused him before the King of intriguing
to usurp the throne. Hurmuz, who is of a suspicious nature,
having given ear to them, the Prince, by the advice of his
old tutor Buzurg-Umid, leaves the capital for a season. Before
starting, Khusrev, who is half-expecting Shirin in consequence
of Shawur's mission, tells the slave-girls at his splendid
palace of Mushkii ' that possibly a fair lady may arrive as
his guest, and charges them, in case she docs, to receive
her with all honour and respect. He then sets out for Armenia,
attended by a few followers, purposing to employ the time
of iiis exile in prosecuting his love-suit. They halt by the
way, when Khusrev, wandering about by himself, suddenly
comes upon a black horse tied to a tree, and hard by, a
beautiful girl bathing in a pond. She does not see him at
first, and he gazes at her bewildered by her loveliness; but
when she turns round and he perceives her confusion at
being discovered thus, he modestly retires, whereupon Shirin
(for it is she though Khusrev knows it not) springs out of
the pond, seizes her clothes, leaps upon Shebdiz, and is off.

' Mushkd or Mushkiiy, the private palace of Khusrev, perhaps represents
that of Dastagherd, though the poets place the former within the city of
Meda'in, while the latter was some seventy miles north of Ctesiphon.

3i8

None the less the beauty is troubled in mind by the vision
of the fair young Prince, and continues her journey with a
heart ill at ease, vaguely surmising that he may have been
Khusrev. At length she reaches Meda^in, goes to the palace
of Mushku as Shawiir had instructed her, where she is
honourably entertained on presenting Khusrev's ring. When
she learns that the Prince is gone, she does not care to remain
in Mushku ; and as Perviz had left orders that all her wishes
were to be carried out, a castle ' is built for her at her
request among the hills.

Meanwhile, Khusrev, no less agitated in mind than Shirin,
and like her haunted with an idea that he has seen the fair
object of his quest, proceeds to Armenia and becomes the
guest of Mehin Banu, who tells him of her niece's disappear-
ance, and invites him to winter there. Ere long Shawur
arrives and -tells the Prince all he has done. Khusrev informs
Mehi'n of his friend's arrival with news of Shirin, and they
resolve to send him off to Meda^in to fetch the beauty back,
the Queen mounting him on Gulgun, '^ another wonderful
steed in her possession, which is reckoned well-nigh the
equal of Shebdiz. When Shawur reaches the Persian capital
he is informed that Shirin has retired to her Castle ; he goes
there, tells the lady all that has happened, and persuades
her to return to Armenia where Khusrev is. She accordingly
mounts Gulgun, having left Shebdiz at Meda^in, and sets off
accompanied by Shawur.

' This castle, Qasr-i Shiri'n or ' Castle-Shfn'n,' gives its name to a little
town which in all probability occupies the traditional site of the famous
beauty's residence ; it is within the limits of modern Persia, about twenty
miles across the Turkish frontier on the way to Kermanshah.

Gulgun, or 'Rose-hued' (i.e. Bay), is almost as famous as Shebdiz him-
self. The legend runs that both these horses were the offspring of a mare by
the enchanted figure of a stallion sculptured out of a black rock in a certain
cave in a mountain in Armenia.

319

In the meantime a messenger from Meda'in comes to
Armenia and tells Khusrev that a revolution has broken out
in the Persian capital, and that his father, who had been -
seized and blinded by the rebels, has resigned the crown
in his favour. Sheykhi now proceeds to tell how this has
come about. Hurmuz, though just, was severe, and many of
the nobles and the people had revolted against him. The
Cajsar, the Arabs, and the Khaqan of Tartary had made
common cause with the rebels, but Hurmuz had bought oft"
the Caesar and the Arabs, and had sent his famous general
Behram-i Chiibin ' to fight Saya Khan the Tartar Khaqan.
Behram had defeated and slain that monarch who was the
maternal uncle of Hurmuz, the latter's mother having been
Saya's sister. The Persian sovereign was thereupon seized
with an unreasoning fit of anger against his general, and
incited by certain evil-disposed persons about the court, he
had sent that officer an insulting letter and a woman's dress.
On this Behram had renounced his allegiance to Hurmuz
and given out that it was his intention to place Khusrev on
the throne. The nobles of Meda'in having heard of this,
and being weary of the severity of Hurmuz, had seized
and blinded him, and sent oft" to Khusrev bidding him come
and sit in his place. When he hears all this, Khusrev returns
at once to his capital, where he is crowned king. He is told
of Shirin's departure with Shawur, and is presented with
Shebdiz. It soon becomes evident that Behram's real purpose
is to secure the throne for himself, and as he is stronger
than Khusrev, the latter, acting on Buzurg-Umid's advice,
retires from the country for a year, till his star shall be in
the ascendant.

Shawur has now taken Shirin back to Armenia, only to

' Behrdm-i Chvibin, i.e. 'Behram the Stick-like,' so called because of his
leanness and his withered up appearance, is the Varanes VI of the Byzantines.

320

find Khusrev gone. Not long after, however, when out hunting
with her maidens, Shi'rin meets Khusrev who is on his way
to Armenia. They recognise one another, and in great dehght
go together to Mehi'n Banii who receives them with all
kindness. Mehin takes an opportunity of earnestly entreating
her niece to be circumspect and in every case jealously to
guard her honour, which Shirin solemnly swears to do. Khusrev
and she then go out into the country with their respective
suites, and after a month spent in hunting and polo and
other amusements, the King invites the beauty to an enter-
tainment in his camp. They have a fair banquet and concert
where Barbud, Khusrev's musician, sings some ghazels inter-
preting the emotions of his master's heart, to which Nigisa,
Shirin's minstrel-maid, replies on behalf of her fair mistress.
This, it may be noted in passing, is a. feature of the story;
Barbud and Nigisa are continually acting as the mouthpieces
of Khusrev and Shirin respectively. The party proceeds to
the banks of the River Aras (Araxes) where they have another
feast and another concert, and where Khusrev kills a lion
with a blow of his fist; and here the King and the Princess
do a little love-making. And so they pass a long time in
all delight, hunting and feasting, till one night Khusrev forgets
himself and tries to tempt Shirin; but she, m-indful of her
promise to her aunt, resists him, and by her bold words makes
him resolve to win back his ancestral throne.

He accordingly departs next morning, but has not gone
far ere he bitterly regrets having left his fair friend. Still
he determines to go on, and makes his way into the land
of Rum, where he comes upon a great monastery to which
he goes up alone. He is refused admission, but the voice of
Nestor, a wise and learned monk, tells him who he is and
what he seeks, and prophesies that in eighteen months he
will attain all his desires. Khusrev then goes on to the Caesar

3^1

(Maurice), who receives him well, makes him marry his
daughter Meryem (Maria), and supplies him with troops by
whose aid he fights and overcomes Behram who flies to the
King of China. Khusrev accordingly reascends the throne
of his fathers, and rules with justice; but despite his success,
he is sad, mourning the absence of Shirin. She, on her part,
is disconcerted when she discovers that Khusrev has really
left the camp, and returns to her aunt who does her best
to comfort her. Not long after this the good Mehin Banii
dies, and Shirin reigns in her stead ; but she still grieves
for Khusrev, and is sadly vexed when she hears that he is
married to Meryem. However, accompanied by a large retinue
in which is the faithful Shawiir, who has never left her, she
starts for Persia, and reaches her Castle among the moun-
tains. She sends Shawiir thence to ]\Ieda'in, considerately
telling him not to mention her to Khusrev lest it should
annoy him now that he is married. But Shawiir does not
heed this; he finds the King, who has just heard of the death
of Behram, and rejoices him with the news of Shi'rin's pre-
sence, and then returns to the Castle.

We are now introduced to one of the most famous char-
acters in Eastern romance. Shirin in her Castle is unable
to get any milk, as the pasture-lands and the herds are
far away on the other side of the mountain, and on her com-
plaining of this one day in the presence of Shawiir, the
latter tells her of a talented fellow-student of his, named
Ferhad, who will, he thinks, be able to arrange some means
to gratify her wish. He accordingly goes and fetches Ferhad,
who no sooner looks upon Shirin than he is smitten to the
heart for love of her. She tells him her wishes, but he is
too dazed to understand her, and his friends have to explain
to him what she has said. He then sets to work with a will,
and within a month digs a canal through the mountain from

322

the pasture-land to the Castle ; into this canal the shepherds
milk their animals, and thus Shiri'n is provided with a con-
stant supply of fresh milk. When the beauty sees this she
is filled with admiration and praises the work as more than
human; she offers Ferhad gold and jewels; but he, distraught
by love of her, takes nothing, and flies into the desert where
he wanders about like a maniac. Khusrev, hearing of this,
sends messengers to fetch Ferhad; one of these finds him
and brings him before the King, who tries him with offers
of riches and threats of punishment; but seeing all such to be
in vain, he promises to give him Shirin if he will cut a road
through the great mountain Bi-Situn. ' Ferhad at once agrees;
but before beginning to cut through the mountain, he carves
in the rock figures of Shirin and of Khusrev and Shebdiz, ^
to the first of which he often speaks and makes his moan
during the progress of his labours. On learning this, Shirin
is much affected and determines to go to Bi-Sitiin and try
to comfort him. The sculptor is dumbfoundered when he
sees her, but a draught which she gives him restores him
to his senses, and he declares to her his sad case. Shirin
bids him farewell; but as she is going down the hill, her

' Kiih-i Bi-Sitiin, i.e. 'Mount Pierless,' is a huge rock about twenty miles
north of Kermanshah; in one place it is cut to a smooth perpendicular sur-
face and projects over the road like a canopy, whence the name Bi-Situn,
literally, ' Without Columns.' This is said to be the remains of Ferhad's work,
and it has earned for him the sobriquet of Kiih-ken, or ' Mountain-hewer,'
by which the poets often allude to him.

2 The Taq-i Bustan or ' Garden Arch,' repi-esents this work of Ferhad's.
It is an archway or grotto cut out in a rock near Kermanshah, on the brink
of a clear pool. In the spandrels are beautifully executed figui'es of flying
angels holding the Sasanian diadem. Within the recess, the two sides and
the farther end are decorated with bas-reliefs; those at the sides represent
Khusrev hunting, while those at the end, in two lines, one above the other,
show, above, Khusrev between two figures, one male (Ferhad) and one female
(Shirin), and below, the King in full armour mounted on Shebdiz ; this last
figure, as well as one of the angels, has been much damaged.

horse stumbles, which Ferhad sees, and rushing forward,
he saves her from falhng and escorts her back to her Castle.
Khusrcv, having got word of these doings and also of Fer-
had's having well-nigh accomplished his almost superhuman
task, is filled with anger, and consults with his vezirs how
to escape from his promise. By the advice of those ministers,
he sends an old woman to F'erhad with the false information
that Shirin is dead. When the devoted lover hears that his
dear one has passed away, he feels that life is no longer
possible for him, and throwing himself down from a high
rock, meets the death he seeks. When Shi'rin is told of this
she grieves deeply and orders a dome to be built over F'er-
had's grave on the spot where he died, to be a shrine for
lovers for ever more.

This episode of Ferhad causes a misunderstanding between
Khusrev and Shirin, which it takes a considerable time and
all the ingenuity of Shawiir to remove. Meanwhile Meryem,
Khusrev's wife, dies, but Shiri'n refuses his advances, being
annoyed alike at his marriage and at his conduct with regard
to Ferhad. Khusrev accordingly solaces himself for a time
with a fair lady named Sheker or 'Sugar,' of whose society,
however, he soon tires and yearns as before for the peerless
Shirin. That lady, on her part, begins to regret her harshness,
and consents to receive Khusrev who has come from Meda^in
to her Castle, nominally on a hunting expedition. After
upbraiding him for his faithlessness, she dismisses him, and
he returns sadly to his camp where Shawiir tries to console
him. Shi'rin again regrets her conduct, slips out of the Castle
disguised as one of the King's attendants, and makes for
the camp. There she is met by Shawiir who recognises her,
and at her request hides her in a pavilion, in which he
induces Khusrev to hold a banquet. Nigisa, whom Shirin
had presented to Khusrev on the Aras, is let into the secret,

324

and at the feast she sings to the King as from Shi'rin ; Barbud
repHes in an affecting strain, whereupon Shin'n betrays her
presence by a deep sigh. Shawur then pulls back the curtain,
and Khusrev and Shirin are in each other's presence. They
soon arrange their marriage, which is shortly afterwards
celebrated at Meda'in with great pomp. Nigisa is at the
same time married to Barbud, and Humayun, Shin'n's favour-
ite damsel, to Shawur, who is made King of Armenia. Khusrev
now leads a happy life with his beloved Shirin, until one
day he sees a grey hair in his beard, which makes him
think how all this must have an end. He speaks about this
to Buzurg-Umid who proceeds to tell him of the creation of
the universe and of the nature of things.

And here, in the middle of the sage's discourse, Sheykhi's
narrative breaks off.

The conclusion of the story can be supplied from Nizami,
and is soon told. Khusrev is comforted and edified by the
words of Buzurg-Umid, but he suffers much anxiety from
the undutiful and seditious spirit of Shiriiya, his son by
Meryem the Greek princess. This youth, having become
enamoured of Shirin, resolves to murder his father, and so
secure at once the throne and his mistress. One night, when
Shirin, having lulled Khusrev to sleep, has fallen asleep her-
self, worn out by vague forebodings that have been preying
on her mind, an assassin, the emissary of Shiriiya, steals
into the room, creeps up to the couch, plunges a dagger into
Khusrev's breast, and flies. The King, waking, finds himself
covered with blood and wounded to the death. Intensely
thirsty, his first thought is to rouse Shirin and get her to
bring him some water, but then remembering that she has
not slept for some nights, and knowing she will need all
her strength for the morrow, he nobly resolves to let her
sleep on, and so dies in his anguish. By and by Shirin

325

awakes, and when she realises what has happened, she weeps
as though her heart would break ; but knowing that she has
yet somewhat to do, she calms herself as best she may. She
then washes and annoints the body of the King; and she
has scarce finished this task when Shiruya sends her a secret
message declaring his love. To gain lier ends she feigns
acquiescence, and gets him to destroy the private residence
and personal property of Khusrev, she being unable to
endure the thought that those things so associated with their
mutual happiness should pass into the murderer's hands. She
then causes a magnificent bier to be made; and the body
of Khusrev is borne in great state to the mausoleum, Buzurg-
Umid and Barbud and all the grandees of the empire march-
ing in the procession. Shirin herself, magnificently arrayed
and wearing her splendid jewels, walks in the midst of a
troop of youths and maidens, with so glad a mien that
Shiruya believes her to be rejoicing in his love. On reaching
the mausoleum, the procession draws up outside, the bier
is carried in, and Shirin follows to watch by it. When the
door is closed, Shi'rin goes up to the bier, uncovers the
King's breast, kisses the wound, and thrusts a dagger into
the same spot in her own body. She then throws her arms
about the dead King, lays her cheek to his, and uttering
one loud cry which is heard by those outside, she dies.

The following passage is from the Introduction to the
Khusrev and Shirin; in it the poet speaks of the Tevhid,
that knowledge or perception of the underlying Unity of
all things which is so dear to the Eastern mystic. As we
have no single word in English to express this idea, I have
in the translation represented it by the phrase 'Ken of
Unity.' This is one of the passages to which Latffi refers
as showing Sheykhi's intimacy with the Siifi mysteries.

326

From the Khusrev u Shi'rin. [49]
Concerning the Degrees in the Ken of Unity.

Come, heart, if tliou the loftiest aim desire.
Know, soul, if thou the Utmost Goal ' enquire.
That Ken of Unity the loftiest is,
The utmost limit of all saintship this.
Each sect hath told, far as its wit hath seen.
As far as hath its sight had power to win,
Of this full many a hint half-understood.
By some as Taste, "- by some as Knowledge, ^ viewed.
Yet to the Truth of Ken of Unity
The Path leads not the traveller-company; *
For that an (^cean is that hath no bound.
And none may that encompass or surround.
What they whose lore and reason perfect be
Have reached is but the shore of yonder Sea!
Of Irem-garth 5 how should the leaflet know?

' Maqsad-i Aqsa, ' the Utmost (or Farthest) Goal,' is a favourite Sufi phrase

2 When the perception of the Unity is attained, not through reason, but
through intuition. Zevq, 'Taste,' is the term applied by the Sufis to the
intuitive faculty which enables the mystic to discern between true and false
without his having recourse to books or other external sources of information.

3 When the perception of the Unity is attained, not through intuition, but
through reason.

* Even the vSufi Path cannot lead the mystic to that last degree in the
perception of the Unity, which is called the Truth ; for this is accessible to
the One alone.

5 It is related that Sheddad, an ancient Ai'ab King of the tribe of "^Ad,
laid out in the desert of "^Aden a terrestrial paradise in rivalry of the celestial.
Of this magnificent garden of palaces, which is called Irem, many stories
are told, such as that it contained 300,000 pavilions each adorned with 1,000
pillai-s of jasper bound with gold. But Sheddad never enjoyed his splendid
work; for as he was about to enter the glorious garden-city, he and all his
host were struck dead by a cry from Heaven. The terrestrial paradise disap-
peared from sight; but it still stands invisible in the desert of '^Aden where
from time to time God permits a traveller to see it. Sir Richard Burton says
that he once met an Arab who declared that he had seen this city on the
liordcrs of a waste of deep sands called Al-Ahkaf to the west of Hadramaut.
Sir R. Burton believes that what the man really saw was the mirage. Irem

3^7

Or how the mote the sun's vast body show ?
On high His Glory over all their speech!
Aloft His Essence over all they teach!

The wonder this, the more it is revealed
The more the nature of The Truth 's concealed.
Its radiance is a veil, and so its light,
The more it waxeth, hides it more from sight. '
But they of the Unveilment * thence have brought
From time to time a hint to such as sought,
A hint the soul-perceived taste whereof
To ecstasy upraiseth them of Love.
As theirs who relativity deny : —
' To drop relation 's Ken of Unity.' 3
Or his who far upon this Path hath gone: —
'Phenomenal maketh Eternal known.'*
Saith who divides 'tween true and vain withal : — '
'Outside is God of aught phenomenal.
' What 's proved as upshot of the whole is this : —
' Outside phenomena their Maker is.' ^

is mentioned in the Koran, Ix.xxix, 6, where it is called ' Irem the Many-
Columned,' whence probably the tale of the jasper pillars. It is often alluded
to by the poets as the type sometimes of a magnificent garden, sometimes
of a splendid palace.

' The nearer it approaches to the Godhead, the more is the eye of the
understanding dazzled, and so the less it can see. The effulgence of the
Godhead may thus be described as a veil concealing it from sight. See p. 66.

* ' They of the Unveilment (Keshf),' i. e. the prophets and saints from before
whose souls the veil woven by the senses is from time to time withdrawn.
See pp. 58-9.

3 The mystics who deny the real existence of relativity say that the per-
ception of the Unity is accomplished through rejecting all conceptions of
relationship, such as creator and created, cause and effect, possessor and pos-
sessed, etc. When one has discovered all relationship to be illusion, one
perceives the Unity.

* Things are known through their opposites (see p. 17); thus it is through
the phenomenal we gain the conception of the eternal.

* i. e. the ordinary non-mystic, non-philosophic person who draws a hard
and fast line between the spiritual and the material, the creator and the
created, the eternal and the phenomenal, and so on.

8 Such an one says: After all your arguments, the only rational conclusion
is that the Creator is outside and separate from the phenomena which He
creates.

328

His Beauty 's one, though manifold their speech;
To yonder Beauty 'tis that poiuteth each.

Division in the Ken of Unity
Is not, yet thus they of philosophy : —
In Ken of Unity are three degrees;
And Knowledge, Eye, and Truth, the names of these.
On reason founded doth the Knowledge lie;
And 'tis through intuition comes the Eye.
The Truth is proper to the One for e'er;
Nor reason wins, nor intuition, there. '

The remaining translations are all from the story itself.
The reader will observe how much more figurative Sheykhi's
style is than that of any of his predecessors in mesnevi; in
particular how lavish he is in the use of metaphor.

From the Khusrev u Shirin. [50]

Khusrev-i Perviz discovereth Shfrin bathing in the Pond.

The spot whereat the Prince Perviz did light
Was where yon Moon " was bathing in delight;
E'en then whenas the sugar-dulce Shirin,
Like Moon in Watery Sign, ^ did lave amene.

1 This division of the perception of the Unity into three degrees C^Ilm-i
Tevhid, "^Ayn-i Tevhid, Haqq-i Tevhid) is copied from the well-known three-
fold division of Certainty or Certain Knowledge, i.e. (i) 'the Knowledge of
Certainty' fllm-i Yaqin); (2) 'the Eye of Certainty' fAyn-i Yaqin); (3)
'the Truth of Certainty' (Haqq-i Yaqin). These three degrees of certain
knowledge are thus illustrated : — the knowledge which each man has con-
cerning death is the Knowledge of Certainty; when the man sees the Angel
of Death approach, this knowledge becomes the Eye of Certainty; and when
he actually tastes of death, it becomes the Truth of Certainty.

2 'Yon Moon' i.e. Shirin. 'Moon' is a constant term for a beauty in
Eastern poetry.

3 The astrologers divided the Signs of the Zodiac into four ' Triplicities'
(Musellesat): (i) Aries, Leo and Sagittary were fiery, hot, dry, male and
day signs; (2) Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn were earthy, cold, dry, female
and night signs; (3) Gemini, Libra and Aquarius were airy, hot, moist, male

329

And pacing on, he gains that meadow-land,
And casts his glance around on every hand.
He sees a flowery plain like Eden- close,
A stream which e'en as Kevser-river flows.
Among the treen is bound a black destrier,
(Y-brent with envy were that steed the Sphere!)
A charger such, the Monarch bright of blee
Had ne'er bestridden steed so fair as he.
Advancing softly, sudden did he sight
That Moon within the water shining bright.
And what a Moon ! the world-illuming sun
Would gain in glore if 'neath her shade he won.
From mid the fount effulgence flasheth forth;
The fount laves her, she laves in light the earth.

and day signs; (^4) Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces were watery, cold, moist,
female and night signs.

Each of the Zodiacal Signs was said to be the 'house' (beyt) of one or
other of the Seven Planets (see p. 43). Each planet, except the Sun and
Moon which h^d only one apiece, had two of such 'houses.' The sign opposite
a planet's ' house ' was called its ' fall ' (vebal). Each planet had further what
was known as its 'exaltation' or 'honour' (sheref) in another sign; and its
'dejection' (hubiit) in that opposite. When in its own 'house,' a planet was
supposed to possess more than usual influence : when in its ' exaltation,' it was
in the position of its greatest power. The following table shows the 'houses,'
'falls,' 'exaltation,' and 'dejection' of each planet.

Sign of the Zodiac: House of: Fall of: Exalta

Aries. Mars. Venus. Sun.

Taurus. Venus. Mars. Moon.

(iemini. Mercury. Jupiter.

Cancer. Moon. Saturn. Jupitei

Leo. Sun. Saturn.

Virgo. Mercury. Jupiter. Mercui

Libra. Venus. Mars. Saturn

Scorpio. Mars. Venus.

Sagittary. Jupiter. Mercury.

Capricorn. Saturn. Moon. Mars.

Aquarius. Saturn. Sun.

Pisces. Jupiter. Mercury. Venus

The idea in Sheykhi's verse is that the effect produced on the beholder
by the sight of the Moon-like (i. e. beautiful) Shiri'n in the water was baleful
as the influence of the Moon when in its 'dejection,' the Watery Sign, Scorpio.

Sign of the Zodiac :

House of:

Fall of:

Exaltation of:

Dejection of

Aries.

Mars.

Venus.

Sun.

Saturn.

Taurus.

Venus.

Mars.

Moon.

(iemini.

Mercury.

Jupiter.

Cancer.

Moon.

Saturn.

Jupiter.

Mars.

Leo.

Sun.

Saturn.

Virgo.

Mercury.

Jupiter.

Mercury.

Venus.

Libra.

Venus.

Mars.

Saturn.

Sun.

Scorpio.

Mars.

Venus.

Moon.

Sagittary.

Jupiter.

Mercury.

Capricorn.

Saturn.

Moon.

Mars.

Jupiter.

Aquarius.

Saturn.

Sun.

Pisces.

Jupiter.

Mercury.

Venus.

Mercury.

330

The violets spread in clusters o'er the rose,

The comb-teeth did the hyancinths dispose. '

Her body made the pond a treasure-scryne, 2

O'er which she'd loosed her locks to twist and twine. 3

Her hand had pushed those writhing snakes away,

As saying: 'Hence! A charm here holdeth sway!'*

For raving wildly when it saw her ear

She'd bound the water with her curling hair 5

As frenzied 'twas and furious of spright,

She'd bound it, nay, had chained it, fettered tight. ^

When o'er her crystal '"• frame was sprent the spray:

'The moonlight through a pearl-gemmed veil,' thou'dst say.''

When shone that Moon before the Prince's gaze,
The Prince became the sun — with fire ablaze.
The tears like rain pour down from both his eyne;
For lo, behold the Mijon in Watery Sign!
Astound, he might not leave nor yet might stay,

' The violets and the hyacinths are the lady's tresses, the rose is her
face She was sitting in the water combing her hair, — like the mermaid in
old prints.

2 Her body being the jewel or treasure, and the pond the casket which
contained it.

3 Like snakes. The widely spread myth of a snake or dragon guarding a
treasure is as familiar to the East as to the West, and has given the poets
occasion for countless conceits and fancies, the most favourite of which is
perhaps the comparison thereto of a beauty's curls hanging about her fair face.

* She pushes aside the long locks floating about her, — which suggests to
the poet that her body is like a structure guarded against snakes by some
talisman similar to that which Alexander set up in his capital to keep it
free from such creatures (p. 278).

s The comparison of the curling locks of a beauty to chains (generally
to bind her lover's heart) is very common.

In these two couplets the rushing water is conceived as having gone mad
through love of her, and so as having been chained as madmen often are
in the East.

8 A clear white skin is often described as ' crystal.'

'' In this couplet the lady is supposed to be throwing handfuls of water
oyer her body, when her white and shining skin, seen between the drops of
water thus thrown, is conceived as the bright moonlight seen through the
interstices of one of those Eastern curtains formed of rows of reeds with
beads (here pearls) at the joints, the pearls being of course the drops of water.

331

He might not come more nigh nor turn away.
For chase or pastime all his force was o'er,
He bit upon his finger, wildered sore. '

Unwitting of that gaze the Jasmine-breast, 2
For o'er her narcisse did her jacinth rest, ^
When passed the musky cloud ♦ from her sun-face,
That beauty looked and saw there full of grace
A Huma * set an eagle-wing upon,"
A Cypress become flagstaff for the sun. ''
That Fount of radiance 8 for her shame and fright
Did tremble like the moon on water bright.
Nor other help could find that Moon most fair

' ' Biting upon the finger,' i. e. raising the finger to the lips, is a conven-
tional e.xpression with the Eastern writers to indicate that the person whom
they describe as so doing is filled with bewilderment or admiration.

2 'Jasmine-breast' i.e. white sweet-scented breast, another term for a beauty.

' i. e. her hair had fallen over her eyes.

* The 'musky choud' is her dark sweet-scented hair.

* The Huma is the bird of paradise. In old times it was held to be of
the happiest augury, any one whose head it overshadowed in its flight being
certain of good fortune. It was said never to alight on the ground, and to
live entirely on bones, hurting no living creature.

6 i. e. Shirfn saw the Prince auspicious as the Iluma mounted on his steed
fleet as an eagle.

^ The ' cypress,' the stock image for a tall, slight, graceful figure, here
stands for the figure of the Prince, while the ' sun ' is his face. The imagery
in this line is curious and unusual. The only similar instance that I can
recall occurs in the Arabian Nights, where in the Twenty-second Night and
again in the Conclusion we read: —

which is thus rendered in Sir Richard Burton's translation : —

'A sun un wand in knoll of sand she showed
' Clad in her cramoisy-hued chemisette.'

On page 250 of the ninth volume the translator thus explains the first line:
'A sun (face) on wand (neck) in knoll of sand (hips) she showed.' But the
' flagstafT,' which replaces the ' wand ' in the Turkish verse , stands for the
'cypress,' and so represents not the neck, but the figure, of the Prince.

8 The 'Fount of radiance' is Shirin who is pictured as trembling in the
pond, as the reflection of the beautiful moon trembles on rippling water.

332

Than round her she should cast her flowing hair.
She wrapped her in her loosened hair straightway,
She veiled with the darksome night the day. •

From the Khusrev u Shirin. [51]

Khusrev-i Perviz and Shin'n visit the River Aras.

One day the Monarch fair and happy-staiTcd,
To wit, Khusrev, the Heaven-resplendent lord.
Went forth the regions round about to sight,
And with him rode that Queen of beauties bright.
(Whoe'er hath by liis side his lovesome Queen, —
In every spot hath he a winsome scene.)

They pass from stage to stage o'er hill and plain.
And joy in field and meadow free and fain.
They reach the stream that men call Aras, where
The soil is musky, balmy is the air.
They see a limpid river clear and pure.
Enow the sorrows of the heart to cure.
'Twas filled with lotus-blooms and lilies bright 5
Its banks with meads and gardens fair were dight;
The naixisse cast upon the rose its eye;
And hand in hand the flowers in ranks stood by ;
Its ruby lip the tulip offered prone,
The dew its pearly teeth had struck thereon. 2

Tlie royal pair were fain of this fair site,
And gave the word that there the tents be pight.
They I'eared the throne, and Perviz sat thereon;
And all the gear of mirth 3 was ready soon;
And by his side the Venus-visaged fair, —
(The Sun and shining Moon thou'dst deemed them there.)
As unto happy fortune won had they,
They raised one throne in place of two that day.

' The ' night ' is her hair ; the ' day,' her face or her body.
The dew is conceived as amorously biting the lip of the tulip.
'The gear of mirth,' i. e. all things needful for a carouse, wine, musical
instruments, etc.

And youths and houris stood on either hand,
As 'twere Rizwan in Paradisal land.
A-singing to his lute Bdrbud sat there ;
Nigfsa, music-thrilled, made answer e'er.

For Shirin's lip that stream as Kevser shone,
As sugar-canes the reeds that grew thereon. '
The Queen's fair face, reflected there did seem
A ruby of Badakhshdn 2 in the stream ;
The while that ruby's taste it pictured still
Its mouth did water and with sugar fill ; 3
It swallows 'fore that julep-lip its spawl,
As thirsting hearts before the sea, withal. *

To voice such plight as this that held the King
Began the lutist this ghazel to sing : —

Ghazel.

For yonder coral-lip my soul 's athirst,
As parched frame for life to ensoul 's athirst.

My vitals, for this yearning, black are burnt.
Like scorched grass for rain that tholes athirst.

Have pity, life it yields, O Khizr of coolth;
Iskender for Life's Fountain's roll 's athirst.

Although the world with water sweet were filled,
Oh deem not slaked his drought whose soul 's athirst.

• i. e. the sweet presence of Shi'rin made all things sweet.

2 Badakhshdn in Central Asia was supposed to yield the finest rubies;
hence 'Badakhshdn rubies' became a stock phrase with the poets, something
like our ' Orient pearls.'

' This is an example of the rhetorical figure Husn-i Ta'lil or /Etiology
(see p. 113). The stream is of course full of running water, but the poet
conceives that this is its mouth watering at the thought of how sweet must
be the taste (i. e. the kiss) of Shirin's lip.

♦ This couplet contains another example of the same figure.

334

From the Khusrev u Shin'n. [52]
The Death of Ferhad.

That hag blear-eyed as vulture foul of show,
That hag ill-voiced as blackest corbie-crow,
When she received the word, set out forthright.
And gained Mount Bi-Sitiin in doleful plight.
She came and sat her down hard by Ferhad,
And beat her breast a while and moaned full sad.

Then she, 'Unhappy one, for whom this toil?
'For whom dost night and day thus strain and moil?'

And he, 'My heai-t 's athirst her lip to drain.
And so I rive the rocks and hills atwain.
'Who brings from thorn the bloom, from rock the stream,
' Hath shown me mid this Mount His Beauty's beam.' •

Then she of bitter deed full deeply sighed : —
' Ah ! Ferhad doth not know Shirin hath died !
'Alas! where is that sweetest Cypress now!
' Before the blast of Death laid stark and low !
'Ah! where that winsome one, that gracious fere!
' What villainy hath wrought the tyrant Sphere ! 2
' They 've laved her frame with many a bitter tear,
' They 've plied the ambergris and the ''abir; 3
' They 've laid that radious Pearl within the clay 5
"Tis souls, not robes, they 've rent: ah, wel-a-way !'

She ceased, and sighed and dreary moan did make;
Her tongue showered venom even as a snake.
How comes it, when this evil thing she sware,
She fell not, burnt to ashes then and there? «

How when that mole, those dusky locks she named.
She was not stricken dumb, black- visaged, shamed?

When into Fcrhad's ears those words had sunk,
Thou'dst deemed he had of mortal poison drunk.

• Made manifest through Shirin who had visited him there.
2 See p. 44, n. 3.

" "^Abir is an unguent made of various perfumes. After a corpse is washed
and shrouded, perfumes are burned beside it and sprinkled over it.

J05

Away he dashed, as one whose bonds are broke,

And hurled him headlong from the topmost rock.

Adown the mount like a great rock he went,

A-wailing for his bitter dreariment.

He struck the ground and cried, 'Where? Shirin! Where?'

And yielded up his soul in anguish there.

His bird was weary of this narrow nest, '

And fled in highest Heaven's fields to rest.

He learned the body is the spirit's veil;

The veil is rent, and cast aside the bale.

' His 'bird' is his soul; the ' uest,' the body, or perhaps, the world.

CHAPTER VII.

The Hurufis.

Nesimi. Re f 1*^1.

Somewhere about the year 785 (1383), when the Ottoman
throne was occupied by Sultan Murad I and when Ahmedi
was writing his Iskender-Name, there arose a new Prophet
in the Eastern lands. This was Fazl-ullah the son of Abu-
Muhammed of Tebn'z, surnamed el-Hurufi or ' the Literalist.'
Almost all we know concerning the life of this teacher is
contained in the following brief passage from the Arab
historian Ibn-Hajar whose work we have already referred to
when speaking of Cadi Burhan-ud-Din. ^ ' Fazl-ullah,' says
this biographer, ' was one of the ascetics among the inno-
vators. He was of the heretics, and finally he originated the
sect which is known as the Hurufis (i. e. Literalists) ; and he
gave out that the letters were metamorphoses of men, together
with many other groundless fictions. And he called the Emir
Timur the Lame to his heresy. And he (Timur) sought to
slay him (Fazl-ullah). And this came to the knowledge of
his (Timur's) son — for he (Fazl-ullah) had taken refuge with
him (Timur's son) — and so he (Timur's son) smote off his
(Fazl-uUah's) head with his own hand. And this came to
the knowledge of Timur, whereupon he demanded his head

1 See p. 205.

1 -> "T

and Jiis body, and he burned tliem both in this \'ear, to wit,
the year 804 (1401-2).'

Our knowledge regarding the doctrines taught by Fazl-
uUah is not verv much greater than our information as to
his Hfe; for although several manuscripts of his own and
his disciples' works have been for long preserved in some
of the great public libraries of Europe, these works remained
quite unnoticed till the year 1898, when Mr. E. G. Browne
published an article on the Hurufi Sect in the Journal of
the Roval Asiatic Society. ' Fazl-ullah himself was, so far
as is known, the author of three works, namely, the Javidan-
Name - or ' Eternal-Book,' the Mahabbet-Name or ' Book of
Love,' and a poem called "^Arsh-Name or ' The Book of the
Throne.' ^ The most important known Hurufi work — other
than those due to Fazl-ullah — is the Istiwa-Name or 'Book
of the Ascent,' which was composed subsequent to 828
(1424-5) by Emir Ghiyas-ud-Din Muhammed. "* All these

' To this article, which, apart from one or two Turkish poems, forms
the only source of information concerning the Huriifi doctrines accessible to
me, I am indebted for most of what is said in the present chapter regarding
the tenets of the sect.

2 As Mr. Browne points out in an interesting account of this work in his
Catalogue of the Persian MSS. belonging to the University of Cambridge, its correct
title is Javidan(-Name)-i Kebir or '•The Great Eternal (Book);' but the Turkish
Huriifi poets always refer to it simply as the Javidan-Ndme.

3 The title 'Arsh-Name or '• Book of the Throne ' has reference to the last

word of the Koranic text i_,ijtj' , <r^ i^«^^' -^ Thumme 'stewa ^ale-'l-

'arsh, 'Then He (God) ascended upon the Throne,''a text which is constantly
quoted or alluded to by the Hunifis with whom the 'Throne' represents
Man. It was, according to Katib Chelebi, on account of this book that Fazl-
ullah was put to death by 'the Sword of the Law.' It is not quite certain
whether there is a copy of the 'Arsh-Name in Europe ; Mr. Browne found a
poem in the metre in which the 'Arsh-Name is known to be written, bound
up with a copy of the Istiwa-Name in a MS. belonging to the Bibliotlieque
Nationale at Paris. He conceives this may be Fazl-uUah's poem; but is not
yet fully satisfied as to the identity.

♦ This book has been described by Mr. Browne in his article in the J. R. A. S.

338

books are in the Persian language, and all, except the '^Arsh-
Name, are in prose. They are, however, very hard to under-
stand, as they are full of contractions and enigmatic symbols,
the precise meaning of which it is not always possible to
determine, which indeed were made use of in order to con-
ceal the conceptions they indicate from the eyes of the
heretic-hunting orthodox. The task of discovering what were
the special features of Fazl-ullah's teaching is rendered yet
more difiicult by the fact that the Hurufi books, like most
of their class, are utterly unsystematic in their arrangement.
Mr. Browne has, however, been able to extricate from this
seemingly hopeless tangle the following four points which
appear to be the most prominent of the peculiar doctrines
of the Hurufi sect: — '

1. There exists a hidden science, to acquire which is at
once the supreme duty and the supreme happiness of man,
indicating and explaining the meaning and significance of
all things in Heaven above and in earth beneath, and the
mystical correspondences which unite them.

2. This hidden science is contained in the Koran; but the
key which unlocks it was in the hands of Fazl-ulhih, and,
after him, passed to his Successor. By them it was disclosed
to the believers.

3. Man, created in the Image of God, 'in the Best of
Forms,' '^ is the Microcosm, the Book of God, the Throne
on which God ascended when He had finished the creation
of all inferior and subordinate creatures, ^ an Object of

The title is taken from the second word in tlie Koranic text quoted in the
preceding note. For the usual acceptation of the term ^Arsh, see p. 35-
' These are transferred (slightly condensed) from Mr. Browne's article.

2 This expression is Koranic: in ch. xcv, v. 4, we read: 'We have indeed
created man in the best of forms.'

3 Referring to the Koranic text quoted in n. 3, ou the preceding page.

339

Worship to the Angels, save Ibh's (Satan) who waxed proud
and refused. '

4. While there is a deep meaning of infinite significance
both in the Koran aiul in the religious observances (prayer,
fasting, pilgrimage, etc.) which it ordains, the merely literal
meaning of the former and the merely formal fulfilment of
the latter are entirely devoid of importance.

Among the most striking of the peculiarities special to
Huriifi writings are the fanciful analogies referred to as
'mystical correspondences' in the first of the foregoing arti-
cles of belief. Perhaps the most favourite of these is the
parallel set up between Alan 'the Book of God ' and the Koran,
which is also the Book of God. This is worked out in detail;
thus the Head or Face of Alan corresponds to the Fatiha
or Opening Chapter of the Koran ; and as the latter com-
prises Seven Signs or Verses, * so in the Face of Alan are
there Seven Signs or Lines, namely, the hair, two eyebrows,
and four rows of eyelashes, — which Seven Signs or Lines
he brings with him when he issues from the womb of Eve,
who is therefore styled the ' Alother of the Book,' ^ a title
which she shares along w'ith the Fatiha and with the Face
of Alan as corresponding to the Fatiha.

It is, however, to the mystic significations which he attri-
buted to the letters of the alphabet and to combinations of

> This refers to the Koranic story mentioned in n. 5, p. 119.

2 Whence the Fatiha is sometimes called Seb'^-ul-Mesani or 'The Seven of
the Repetition.' This term, which is frequently used by Huriifi writers, is
borrowed from the Koran itself, where in ch. xv, v. 87, we read ' And we have
already brought thee the Seven of the Repetition,' — the reference being to
the Fatiha.

3 Of this term, Umm-ul-Kitab, which also is Koranic, occurring in iii, 5,
and elsewhere, various interpretations are given; some say it refers to the
Fatiha (this is the usual opinion); some, to the fundamental parts of the Koran;
others, to the Preserved Tablet on which is inscribed the original of the Koran
(see p. 35); and so on.

340

these that Fazl-ullah owes his distinctive title of Hurufi,
that is, 'He of the Letters,' 'the Literalist,' a title which
was straightway adopted by or given to the sect he founded.
As an example of the fantastic way in which the letters
were dealt with, Mr. Browne cites the treatment of the first
verse of the much-suftering Fatiha. The i8 letters contained
in this verse are taken to represent the 18,000 worlds, of
which, according to an ancient Eastern tradition already
mentioned, the universe consists. 1 Now the Sum of the Uni-
verse, as we have seen before, - is sometimes expressed by
'God plus What is beside God.' If we take away the 4
letters which in Arabic form Allah or 'God' from 18, we have
14, which number therefore represents the 'What is beside
God,' i. e. the phenomenal or material universe, all contin-
gent existence. This same number 14, to which the Hurufis
seem to have attached great importance, they get at in
another way. The Arabic alphabet which, according to
them, represents the Sum of the Universe, i. e. ' God plus
What is beside God,' consists of 28 letters; if we deduct
what they call the ' fourteen letters of God,' ^ we have again
14 letters left to represent the 'What is beside.' Scarcely less
importance was attached to the number 32, which represents
the 28 letters of the Arabic alphabet plus the 4 letters added
thereto by the Persians.

Mr. Browne, in the interesting and valuable paper of which
I have made so free a use, gives many more particulars
concerning this strange and little-known sect in which he

' See p. 54.

2 See p. 181, n. i.

3 Perhaps, the 14 letters contained in the formula y.^ "bJS s^~^ "4 *.Xji

' God, there is no god but He ;' or perhaps, the ' Fourteen Letters of the
Koran,' i. e. the 14 different detached letters which stand at the beginning
of certain chapters of the Koran.

341

traces a resemblance to the old Isma'^ilis on the one hand
and to the modern Babis on the other. Enough, however,
has been said for our purpose here. We need only add that
Hunifiism was in no sense a new religion, it was merely a
Muhammedan, or more strictly, a Sufi sect ; the Javidan-
Name and other books of Fazl-ullah make no pretension to
abrogate or even to supersede the Koran, they simply ex-
pound it in a peculiar fashion of their own. Again the cabal-
istic science known as ^Ilm-i lluruf or the 'Science of the
Letters' (i; e. Onomancy), whence the sect gets its name, is
among the oldest branches of occult lore, while we have come
across more than one reference to the virtues of the Letters
conceived as elements of Words, themselves the expression
of Thought. Here Fazl-ullah did but work up afresh ancient
materials which he found read)- to his hand, and adapt them
to the requirements of his special theories. Thus again is
exemplified what wc learned in the First Chapter to look
upon as one of the most striking characteristics of Eastern
thought, namely, the persistence of ideas once accepted,
and the recurrent appearance of these, more or less modified
or disguised to meet the exigencies of altered conditions.

The distinctive feature of Huriifiism as presented by the
Turkish poets is, however, neither the cabalistic notion of
an occult virtue attaching to the letters, nor the fantastic
analogies imagined between sacred texts and members of
the human frame; it is the deification of man conceived as
the Divine theophany. The roots of this conception, which
underlies all the writings of Nesi'mi and Refill, may be dis-
covered in tiic mvstic's watch-word, 'Whoso knoweth him-
self knoweth his Lord,' in the philosopher's presentment
of man as the microcosm containing in miniature within
himself all that exists in the great cosmos without, and in
that ideal, common to thinkers of both schools, of the

342

Perfect Man. But the Hurufis pushed these ideas farther and
in a direction other than originally intended, for they ex-
tended to the body what was meant to apply only to the
Soul. The apotheosis of the merely material part of man
was perhaps a not unnatural outcome of the pantheism
which had prevailed for ages upon every hand ; and it may
be that a consciousness on the part of the '^ulema of the
imminence of such danger contributed in some measure to
the ruthlessness wdierewith the sect was hunted down. In
any case, it is this presentation of humanity, or at least of
the beautiful members of humanity, as the proper objects
of worship and adoration, that distinguishes the Huriifi poets
from all other Turkish writers, and that caused the adherents
of this sect to be regarded by the orthodox as the most
impious of blasphemers.

The best-known of the Turkish Hurufi poets is the i^iftcd
and devoted Seyyid ^Imad-ud-Din, famous in the national
literature under his makhlas of Nesimi. With the exception
of "^Ashiq, who connects him with Amed or Diyar-bekr, the
biographers are agreed that he was a native of a place called
Nesim in the district of Baghdad, whence, they say, his
pen-name of Nesimi. ^Ashiq and '^Ali are probably correct
in making him of Turkman extraction, as the regions of
'^Iraq are largely peopled by clans and families of that race.
That there was an Arab somewhere, however, in his genea-
logical tree is indicated by his title of Seyyid, a title given
to those alone who can trace descent from the Prophet.

Latifi, the biographer who is responsible for the state-
ment that Xesi'mf and Sheykhi met one another at Brusa,
says that the former poet came to Riim in the time of
Murad Khan Ghazi. The Sultan here meant must be Murad I
who reigned from 761 (1359) to 792 (1390), and not Murad II,
as "^Ali imagines, seeing that the latter monarch did not
succeed till 824 (1421), four years after the execution of
the poet.

The details of Xesimi's life are unrecorded; but it is clear,
alike from his own poems and from the meagre scraps of
information to be gleaned from biographers and historians,
that his was one of those eager, subtle, enthusiastic natures
that have at no time been uncommon among Eastern peo-
ples, natures to which the quest of Truth is the one thing
needful, which pursue the same with intensest fervour and
most single-minded devotion, and which, when they have

344

found what they believe to be the sought-for Light, wel-
come it with a passionate love which in the delirium of its
exaltation sets them beside themselves, frenzied, and reck-
less of all else in existence.

Before he fell in with Fazl-ullah the Huriifi, Nesfmi had,
in pursuit of this need of his soul, frequented other mystic
teachers of the day, and, if we may believe Latifi, had
formed some connection with the sect or school founded
by Shcykh Shibli, a famous Siifi saint of early times. * It
was in all probability from Fazl-ullah's own lips that Nesimi
learned the Huriifi doctrines. That the two men were per-
sonally acquainted seems almost certain; the language of
the Ottoman biographers points to this, as also do the allu-
sions and anecdotes in the Hurufi books. There can at any
rate be no doubt that the Turkish poet had accepted the
doctrines of the Persian teacher some time before the latter
perished at the hands of Timur's son. This is shown by an
anecdote in the Istiwa-Name, in which the author Ghiyas-
ud-Din tells of a discussion between himself and Fazl-ullah
on certain technical points in Nesimi's poems which took
place at a conference where these poems were being read.
The poet must therefore have embraced the Hurufi doc-
trines some time before the year 804 (1401-2).

Not content with being a disciple, Nesimi became a mis-
sionary, and made at least one convert whose name is
remembered to the present day. This is the poet Refi'^i, a
manuscript of whose Besharet-Name or 'Book of Glad Tidings'
is preserved in the British Museum. - In this book, which
was written in 811 (1409), the author speaks of Nesimi, his

' Sheykh Shiblf was born at Samara in ''Iraq in 247 (861-2), and died in
Baghdad in 334 (945-6)-

Latifi's statement derives some colour from the fact tliat Nesimi mentions
Shibli from time to time in his Diwan.

2 Add. 5,986.

345

spiritual guide, with the greatest reverence and afifection;
and as he alludes to tlic bonds and imprisonments uncom-
plainingly endured by his dear master, it is probable that
even b)- this time the indiscreet zeal of Nesimi had aroused
the hostility of the "^ulema.

Towards the end of his career Nesimi seems to have cast
aside every shred of self-control. His Hunifiism would appear
to have fallen into the background, and ]\Iansur-i liallaj, '
the martyr-ecstatic, to have become his paragon. It was not
enough for him to extol this beloved exemplar, to flout and
revile his blinded executioners, and to declare that a death
such as his was the highest bliss the Lover could attain.
Such conduct, though naturally reprehensible in the eyes of
the orthodox, might have been overlooked ; but Nesimi,
possessed by a conviction that the Day of Grace was come,
and that they to whom God had revealed the truth must no
more keep silence, roamed the country crying aloud the very
words for uttering which Mansiir had perished, — those myste-
rious and awful words, I am The Truth I I am God I which,
whatever their import on the lips of the mystic devotee, are
rank blasphemy in the eye of the Canon Law of Islam.

In vain did Shah Khandan, Nesimi's own brother and,
like himself, a dervish mystic, seek to restrain this all too
fervid ardour; in vain did lie appeal to the poet to respect
the sacred mysteries of their faith and cease proclaiming
them in the face of the unworthy multitude.

'Look yc, unto none disclose that Secret Word;

'■ Feed not from the Chosen's board the common herd,' 2

he wrote; but Nesimi vouchsafed no reply save these verses
from one of his poems : —

' See p. 21, n. 2.

346

' Stirred to its depths is the Circling Ocean, '
' Being and Space are in wild commotion !
^'Tis the Secret Eternal's revelation;
■• Shall the Lover practise dissimulation !' 2

Nesimi courted his doom. Never was saint or confessor
of the early Church more eager to win the martyr's crown
than this dervish poet. It was in the city of Aleppo that
his heart's desire came to him. There, by the Arab ^ulema
— the city was then in the hands of the Egyptian Mem-
luks — was Nesimi found guilty of blasphemy on the evidence
of his own poems, and condemned to be flayed alive.

Concerning his death "^Ali tells the following story. Among
those present to witness the execution was the Mufti of
Aleppo by whose fetwa the poet was condemned. This legist
waxed vehement in denunciation of his victim, and pointing
towards him, cried, 'Unclean is he! unclean is his death!
did but one drop of his blood touch any limb, that limb
must needs be cut off!' Just then a drop of Nesimi's blood,
spirting forward, fell upon the Mufti's finger and stained it
red. An ancient Siifi, who was standing near, observed this
and said, ' In accordance with your own fetwa. Mufti, it is
now become needful that your finger be cut off.' 'Ah,'
replied the legist, 'it fell on mc while I was exemplifying;
so legally naught is needful.' ^ Nesimi saw what had passed,

' The great ocean which according to the ancient tradition surrounds the
earth. Sec p. 38.

2 ^^J\X^ ifc,..w5._r> ,..LX^ jJLaJ^.^ * ^L\i5^ \.w^s>- JbjjjS^ L3^.\'^
l.tiA-/« ..jyvw-ljl ii^.:^\o v^^L-c * 1,1 — X — M^ t^^A — Jj^ oy . — a«

3 This refers to a well-known phrase ^•^J \.hi> »uX.i.^4.J ' in exemplifying

is no evil,' which is used by teaching members of the ''ulema when they
show or explain to tlieir pupils how canonically to perform certain actions.
The Mufti here of course perverts the meaning of the phrase to make it
suit his own purpose.

347

and from the hands of the tormentors rebuked the cowardly
evasion by this extemporized couplet : —

'So thou'd cut the zealot's finger, from the truth he turns and flees!

'■ Lo, this hapless Lover weeps not though they flay him head to foot! ' '

According to Katib Chelebi this tragedy took place in
the year 820 (14 17-8).

So perished he whom the Hurufi books entitle the Beati-
fied Martyr; but it is very doubtful whether it really was
for Huriifiism that Nesimi laid down his life. Latifi distinctly
says that what led to his condemnation was the following
verse : —

Mansiir declared ■• I am The Truth !' His words were truth, 'twas truth he spake ;
Nor aught of dole was in his doom, by aliens on the gibbet hanged. 2

If this is so, it is clear that at any rate the avowed reason
of the poet's execution was not his connection with the
Hurufi heretics, but his unlawful proclamation of a well-known
and widely spread Siifi tenet.

It is evident from the sympathetic tone which they adopt
towards Nesimi that this was the opinion of the old biogra-
phers. Those writers were all professedly orthodox Muslims
and would not have dared — even had they so desired —
to express their admiration of the obstinate adherent of a
notorious heresiarch; but on the other hand they, or at least
most of them, and of their readers also, were more or less
imbued with Siifiistic ideas, and in their hearts felt and
believed far more truly after the fashion of Xesi'mi the Man-
siirian than after that of his orthodox executioners. The only

i4>^£l J,jy>o L-j_M Jiv^l^Lc ^.yf.\jM^ _^j .yS

348

notable exception is '^Ashiq Chelebi who dismisses Nesimi
in a few somewhat contemptuous lines which show sufficiently
that his sympathies were with the ^ulema. But this writer
appears to have had an unusual aversion to mystics of every
class, an aversion which he is at little pains to conceal, and
for which he is repeatedly and severely castigated by Esrar
Dede the special biographer of the Mevlevi poets.

As they give some idea of how far men ostensibly orthodox
could forget their orthodoxy in the presence of Sufi enthu-
siasm, it will be interesting and instructive to reproduce the
remarks made by those biographers who are apologists for
Nesimi when dealing with the crucial subjects of his alleged
crime and his execution.

Latifi, ' who describes Nesimi as 'the Dauntless Champion
of the Field of Love, the Glorious Sacrifice of the Ka'^ba of
Affection,' says, ' Whoso knoweth not from what Station he
(Nesimi) uttered that Word (I am The -Truth !) and hath
not found annihilation in the Essential Unity, can have no
understanding of his case. Towards the close of his life,
attraction from the World Unseen laid hold on him, and
many a time was he beside himself, when, powerless of self-
restraint and self-control, he would publish and proclaim
Mysteries which it is needful to conceal.' 'In the terminology
of the Sheykhs (i. e. Mystics) they call this Station Qurb-i
Fera^iz. - It is the Station wherein the Lover passeth from

' I translate from a MS. of Lati'ffs Tezkire in my collection, which is here
and in many other places fuller than the printed edition.

2 TIic term Qurb-i Feraiz which means 'The Proximity (to (iod) resulting
from (the Observance of) the Things Commanded,' is thus explained in the
'Dictionary of the Technical Terms used in the Sciences of the Musulmans,
edited by Sprenger and Lees, 1862: 'This is the entire annihilation of the
worshipper from consciousness of all created existences, including even his
own, in such a way that naught remaineth in his view save the existence
of The Truth. And this is the meaning of 'the annihilation of the worshipper
in God.' And it is the fruit of the (observance of the) things commanded.'

349

himself and bccomcth one with the Rcloved. Its siniiHtudc
in external things is the annihilation of individuality in the
rain-drop that falleth into the sea. Whoso looketh merely
at the outside thereof seeth blasphemy; but in the eyes of
the initiate it is the Perfect Faith. And it is blasphemy in
the eyes of them who see but the outside, for this that it
is a strange \vhirlpool hard b)' the stead of blasphemy. And
should anyone (which God forbid), ere he hath reached that
Station and become united with The Truth, speak such words
through blind imitation, that indeed were blasphemy.' 'At
length the Arab Imams in the city of Aleppo, saying,
"Outwardly this word is contrary to the Sacred Law," gave
judgment that he be put to death; and hearkening not,
neither listening to the interpretation of his saying, did they
flay .him. They looked but to the outside of the word, and
went the way of the Law; for the point at which look the
executors of the Law is the outside, and not what is hidden
and what is meant.'

Hasan Chelebi writes, in the grandiloquent and ultra-Persian
style that he affects: 'The reins of self-restraint and free-
will passed from the hand of his control, and as the delirium
of Love overmastered the Sultan Reason, involuntarily was
he instant in the divulgement of the Mysteries and in the
discovery of the Secrets; and he proclaimed in every market-
place things which alike by reason and by the Law it is needful
to conceal. Therefore in the city of Aleppo, by judgment of
the Imams of the Law, was he slain on the field of Love
and Passion, and laved in the cleansing water of Martyr-
dom. In very truth, when the Sultan of the throne of Love
and Ardour, upraising the ensigns of victory and mastery
complete, would hurl the vanquished of the field of amaze
into the abyss of disaster and calamity, and would part the
bewildered reelers in the waste of terror and amaze from

350

the companion Reason and the guide Understanding, their
feeble hearts (which are the treasuries of the mysteries of
truth) become powerless to conceal the secrets of the God-
head, and their frail bodies (which are the bearers of the
burden of the Trust i) chafe against carrying the load of
the Law ; so perforce do sighs and groans issue from their
woeful souls, and that veiled converse is made public as the
day, and the hidden secret becometh manifest to the world.
It is even as saith that Pilgrim of the Typal and the Real,
that Leader of the Field of Love, that Know^er of the Secret,
Khoja Hafiz of Shiraz : —

' My heart from hand escapeth ! O men of heart ! By Heaven !
'Woe 's me! My Secret Hidden will now to all be given!' ''-

Those extracts throw a flood of light on the real attitude
towards religious subjects of the vast majority of cultured
Turks before the days of the Western learning.

Latifi, perhaps anxious to screen the ' Dauntless Champion
of the Field of Love' from the opprobrium of connection
with an heretical sect of ill repute, mentions a report that
Nesimi was not actually a Hurufi of the sect of Fazl-ullah,
but w^as merely a proficient in the cabalistic science dealing

* 'The Trust,' this is a reference to the Koranic text, xxxiii, 72: ' V^erily,
We offered the trust to the heavens and the earth and the mountains, but
they refused to bear it, and shrank from it 5 but man bore it.' The orthodox
commentators generally explain this ' trust ' from which the mightiest objects
in nature shrank, but which man accepted, to be the Faith with tlie tremen-
dous responsibilities this involves. The mystics however interpret it to be
the esoteric doctrine, and say that in the ' man ' who bears it we are to see
the Lover, he who alone is ' Man ' in the highest sense.

So in this passage Hasan means that they who bear this tremendous burden
of awful knowledge, from which the very heavens and earth recoiled, have no
strength left to patiently support the yet further load of the external and
ceremonial Law.

351

with the virtues and properties of the letters of the alphabet ;
and he adds that it is so written in the book called Menaqib-
ul-\\';isilin or 'The Acts of the Attainers.' ' There can, how-
ever, be no manner of doubt that Nesi'mi was really a
Hurufi and a disciple of Fazl-ullah. Even if his own poems,
which abound in Hurufi catch- words, were insufficient evi-
dence, we have the statement of his pupil Refi"^! who tells
us that it was by Nesi'mi that he was initiated into the
doctrines of Fazl-ulhih. The Hurufi books again frequently
mention him either as Nesimi or as Seyyid "^Imad, and speak
of him as being one of the most brilliant lights of their school ;
Ghiyas-ud-Din indeed in the Istiwa-Name places him among
the seven ' most learned, most perfect, most excellent, most
eminent dervishes of the age.' The utmost that can be allowed
is that Xesimi's enthusiasm for Huriifiism may possibly have
somewhat waned towards the close of his life under the stress
of his fervour for the ways of Mansiir.

Nesimi's literary work consists of two Diwans, one Turkish,
the other Persian, besides a number of poems in Arabic.
The Turkish Di'wan, with which alone we are concerned, is
much the larger and more important. It contains one piece
of about fifty lines in mesnevi form, the same from which the
author sent a verse or two in answer to his brother's appeal,
somewhere between 250 and 300 ghazels — several of which
are of inordinate length, — and over 150 ruba'^is or quatrains.

Two elements, the Siifi and the Hurufi, meet and blend
in Nesimi's poetry, with the result that his Diwan stands
by itself in Turkish literature. The Siifi element he shares
in common with hundreds of his fellow-poets; ail that diffe-
rentiates him here is the quite unusual frequency of his
references to Mansur, and the persistence with which he

' I have been unable to find any trace of a book so named. The ' Attainers '
of the title are doubtless the saints who have attained to mystic union with God.

352

asserts his own pretension to the Divine Ipseity. This last
point no doubt underHes almost all Siifi poetry, but it is
rarely proclaimed so audaciously and undisguisedly.

It is therefore the Huriifi element in his work that really
gives Ncsimi his unique position. Being a true poet, he selected
and presents almost exclusively that aspect of Hurufiism
which alone is capable of poetic treatment. Except for a
stray line or two, chiefly in the quatrains, where the mystic
import of the numbers 28 and 32 is suggested, the cabal-
istic side of the doctrine is completely ignored. What took
captive Nesimi's imagination, and what he lovingly dwells
on in every poem in his book, is the conception embodied
in the third of the four articles of Huriifi faith mentioned
a little while ago. The root of this conception, the self-
revelation of God in humanity, is a perfectly familiar Sufi'istic
idea; but to the Siifi the fair human form is only a mirror
in which is reflected the Divine Beauty, and so the love
which such mirror inspires is merely the 'Typal Love' which
is but the 'Bridge' to the 'Real Love,' that is, to the love
of the Reality shadowed therein. ' To the Hurufi, on the
other hand, the fair human form is not simply a reflection,
it is an incarnation of the Deity; and the love which it
inspires is not a mere 'Bridge' to something else, but is
itself the goal.

Here we have the key-note of Nesimi's poetry. He sees

the Revealer present indwelling in the Revelation; and so

in his eyes the fair object of his love is not merely the

mirror of God, but is God.

•■Who saith then unto thee, "Nay, thou art not God."?
'Who knows thee not for God, from God is sundered !' ■■'

^ See pp. 20-1.

353

he cries; and the cry rings from end to end through his
Divvan.

It follows that the love inspired by the beloved thus con-
ceived must be itself the end and goal, as there is nothing
higher to which it can lead. Moreover, the Beloved, being-
God, is properly the object not only of the poet's love, but
of his adoration. And not of his adoration alone, but of
that of all men ; and he who refuses to bow down and
worship the Beloved is a devil ; for was it not the Devil, and
the Devil only, who refused to obey the command of God
and fall down in adoration before the man Adam?

This brings us to another peculiarity of Nesimi's poetry;
that is the extreme frequency with which he quotes passages,
sometimes mere expressions, from the Koran and Traditions,
and the ingenious subtlety with which he contrives to make
these appear to confirm and bear out his own conclusions.
Thus the incident just referred to, the refusal of Ibli's to
worship Adam at God's bidding, which occurs in the Koranic
story of the creation, * is continually presented as a Divine
confirmation of the Hurufi doctrine that the human form is
a fitting object of adoration and that whoso refuses to ac-
knowledge this is a rebel even as Satan himself. Again,
there is a Koranic text which runs, 'Everything doth perish
except His face,' ^ referring of course to the face of God ;
this Nesimi and the other Hurufis represent as referring to
the human face (to which, as we have seen, they attribute
extraordinary significance) and then deduce therefrom the
eternity, and consequently, the divinity of humanity.

That arguments such as these, which to us seem so puerile
and so little convincing, should have been seriously set forth

' See p. 1 19, n. 5.
* Koran, xxviii, 88.

354

and fervently believed by men of more than average intelli-
gence may appear scarcely credible. But the East is not as
the West; and, as the scholar whom I have so often quoted
in this chapter ' most truly says, while for the Western the
essentials of religion are Faith and Righteousness, for the
Eastern they are Knowledge and Mystery. The more subtle
therefore and intricate a religious system is, and the more
it professes to explain, the stronger is its appeal to the
more highly strung type of Eastern mind. Of the sincerity
of Nesimi's belief in the ideas he took up there can be no
question. The story of his life and death is warrant enough
for that. But even if we knew nothing of this story, and
had only his Diwan in our hands, we could no more doubt
the absolute sincerity than we could the passionate ardour
of the man who wrote those pages.

It is this utter single-mindedness combined with this white-
heat of passion that has made Nesi'mi the first true poet
of the Western Turks, the only true poet of this far-off
Period. They are no vain words in which ^Ali says that it
is Nesimi who first gave lustre to Turkish poetry. In his
verse, more than in that of any of the poets we have yet
considered, we can hear the note of inspiration. Those have
striven with varying success to reproduce in their own lan-
guage something they have studied in another; Nesimi sings
because he must, because he himself has a message that
demands deliverance. And Love lends eloquence to his
tongue; his expression is more graceful, his language more
perfect, than that of any predecessor or contemporary. And
so when we read his impassioned lyrics, a-thrill with ecstasy
and rapture and clothed in gracious melody, we almost
forget the fantastic features of Hurufi doctrine, and feel that

' Mr. Browne.

355

this old poet too has indeed, after his own fashion, looked
upon the Face of God.

In Nesimfs poems there is of course no formal exposition
of any Huri'ifi doctrine; these are taken as established, and
a knowledge of them on the part of the reader is presup-
posed. Without such knowledge the poems are in great
part unintelligible, and this is my excuse for having dwelt
upon these doctrines at so much greater length than their
importance may appear to warrant. Nesimi nowhere applies
the term Huriifi either to himself or to his fellow-sectaries;
they are simply Lovers, like any other mystics. He fre-
quently refers, however, to the founder of his sect; but he
generally translates the name Fazl-ullah, which in Arabic
means 'Grace of God,' into some such Persian equivalent
as Fazl-i Yezdan or Fazl-i Khuda. His object in doing so
was probably twofold ; in the first place, as these Persian
terms are less proper names than phrases signifying 'the
grace of God,' the poet, by using them in lieu of his teacher's
name, is able to produce a series of equivoques such as the
Eastern loves; and in the second place, they would provide
him with a ready retort should any orthodox critic object
to the laudation of Fazl-ullah the teacher, by enabling him
to ask whether the objector disapproved of the celebration
of the grace of God. If this last proceeding should appear
to the reader io partake of the nature of an evasion, it
must be borne in mind that to the medieval Oriental, and
above all to the Hurufi, there was in words a vast deal
more than the mere superficial signification; and so it might
quite honestly be averred that when speaking of the grace
of God, the conception of the individual so named and
through whom this was revealed, was swallowed up and
lost sight of in the far greater conception of the revelation
itself.

356

In point of literary execution Nesimi's lyrics are ahead
of all other poems of the same class that have hitherto been
produced. His prosody is Persian throughout; and if at
times he departs from the Persian usage, lie is at least con-
sistent in his departures. Some of his work must have been
written prior to the Tartar invasion, as we have seen that
Fazl-ullah, who was one of Timur's innumerable victims,
discussed verses by him with Ghiyas-ud-Din ; but no doubt
much also was composed during the score or so of years
that elapsed between his master's execution and his own.
There is, however, ho visible inequality in the workmanship
of his ghazels; and it would be quite impossible to throw
these into any kind of chronological order. The equal excel-
lence of his earlier with his later work may perhaps be due
to the circumstance that Nesi'mi was a great traveller and
frequented the society of the saintly, who in those days
were also the learned. In this way he would acquire, it may
be almost unconsciously, a knowledge of form in poetry
before such became general among the Turkish peoples.

The fame of Nesimi has long outlived that of the sect
whose brightest ornament he was. For many a year, even
to the present day, the poet has been looked upon as
a saint and a martyr by thousands of his countrymen who
have never so much as heard the name Hurufi. Testimony
to his reputation during the intervening centuries comes
from an unexpected quarter. The old European travellers,
Nicholay and Rycaut, in the curious and interesting, though
naturally confused and inaccurate, accounts which they give
of the religious sects in Turkey, both speak of the esteem
in which the dervishes of their time held Nesimi. Nicholay,
who visited Constantinople in 1551 in the suite of the French
ambassador, tells us that there are among the Turks four
religious sects. It is with the second of these, which he calls

357

the Calenders, ' and the members of which he describes as
glorying in chastity and abstinence and as living in little
'churches' called Tekyes, that he associates Nesimi. Of those
sectaries he says, speaking through his contemporary English
translator:- 'These also goe reading of certain songs and
common rymes compounded by one of their order called
Nerzimi (Nesimi), whom they repute and take amongst them
to have bin the first saint of their Religion, who for having
spoken certaine words against the law of Mahomet, was in
Azamia, which is Assyria, ^ flaide quicke, and by these
means the first martyr of their Religion.'

In the entertaining volume entitled 'The History of the
Present State of the Ottoman Empire,' which was written
by Sir Paul Rycaut on his return to England after a five
years' residence in Turkey, whither he had accompanied
the mission sent by Charles II to Mehemmed IV in 1661,
we get a long description of 'the ^ects and Heresies in the
Turkish Religion.' In the course of this the author speaks
about the Bektashi dervish-order, of which he gives a very

1 The order of the Qalenden's was founded by Qalcnder YUsuf-i Endelusi,
a Spanish Muslim who was contemporary with Hajji Bektash. In addition
to purity of heart, spirituality of soul and exemption from all worldly defile-
ment, he required of his proselytes that they should perpetually travel through
the Muslim world and live wholly upon alms. They were further required to
practise the severest acts of austerity in order to attain to the Heavenly
favour, more especially the state of ecstasy and illumination. Hence the name
Qalcnder came later to be applied to any dervish of any order who was
distinguished above his fellows for works of supererogation, for Divine reve-
lations, or for any special favour of Heaven. Later still the name fell into
ill repute, and the Qalender was regarded as a dissolute anlinomian who
roamed the world doing whatsoever seemed good to him under the mask of
a superior sanctity.

2 'The Navigations, I'crcgrinations and Voyages, made into Turkic,' by
Nicholas Nicholay, Translated out of the French by T. Washintjton the \'()unger.
London, 1585.

' In the Italian version of Nicholay's Travels, .\zamia becomes Amazia (for
Amasiyar), and the words 'which is Assyria' are omitted.

358

unfavourable account. ' According to his information, this
order was instituted in the time of 'Soleyman the Magnifi-
cent ' (Suleyman I) ; ^ and he informs us that its members,
besides being the most strict and superstitious of Muham-
medans, 'hold it unlawful to adjoyn any Attributes to God,
by saying that God is great, or God is merciful, by reason
that the nature of God being infinite and incomprehensible,
cannot fall under the weak and imperfect conceptions of
mans understanding, which can imagine nothing applicable
to his nature.' ' Of this sect was a famous Poet amongst the
Turks called Nemisi (Nesimi), that was flead alive, for saying,
when the Emaum (Imam) called the people to Prayers at
the ordinary hours from the Steeple with the usual word
Allah Ekber (Allahu Ekber), God is one (really, 'God is
Most Great'), that he lied, upon the supposition that no
Epithete can be predicated of the Divine Essence.'

These statements are of course incorrect in detail, the old
traveller was doubtless misinformed by the 'Polonian' convert

1 Rycaut says the Bektashis were reputed to practise incest, whence they
were called by some 'zerati' (perhaps for zira'^ati 'husbandman' in allusion
to the metaphor wherewith, according to the information of the English writer,
they were wont to defend their use), and by the vulgar ' mumsconduren '
(for mum sugundiren, ' putters out of the candle '). The reason of this last

by-name may be understood from the proverb Ovvc \Xji ikS iiV.^AJ^>w Jtt.^
i*i^v*« ' when the candle goes out ^ aiu-htci- cannot be distinguished from
I woman, ^ saying which, in its ordinary application, is equivalent to our
proverb 'all cats are grey in the dark.'

2 Suleyman I reigned from 926 (1520) to 974 (1566). Hajji Bektash, the
patron of the Bektashi order, died not later than 792 (1390); see p. 179, n. i.
It is true, however, that during the reign of Suleyman many abuses crept
into the order; as Tash-kopri-zade, who was a contemporary, says, 'in our
time an unshorn crew of innovators, the roar of the drum of whose errors
and the clangour of the naker of whose effrontery hath ascended to the apogee
of the sphere, giving themselves out to be disciples of that Elder of the
Path (Hajji Bektash), have made show of discipleship at the shrine of Love
(the saint's tomb), and have laid claim to connection with that threshold of
miracles,' a claim whicli the writer vigorously controverts.

359

to Islam to whom he was indebted for most of his particu-
lars concerning religious matters. Disinclination to predicate
amything of the Divine Essence was not a peculiarly Bek-
tashi characteristic; it was, as we have learned, the usual
attitude of the philosophers and higher mystics in presence
of the One, an attitude learned from the Neo-Platonists.
We know, moreover, that the oftence for which Ncsimi
suftered was quite other than that reported by Rycaut.

Setting aside whatever might be inferred as to the wide-
spread reputation of Nesi'mf from the circumstance that he
alone of the Turkish poets is mentioned by both these
foreign writers, it is notable that neither of them seems
ever to have heard of the Hurufi sect, while each represents
Nesi'mi as being claimed by a different dervish-order. From
this we may gather, firstly, that the Huriifis had ceased to
be of importance by the middle of the sixteenth century,
and secondly, that the fact of Nesimi's connection with that
school had by then faded from the popular memory. This
last point may perhaps tend to strengthen the conjecture
already made that towards the close of his life Nesimi's
zeal for Huriifiism was swallowed up in his enthusiasm for
that advanced form of Siifiism which is associated with the
name of Mansur the Wool-carder.

We shall now let Nesi'mi speak for himself, so far as this
is possible through the medium of translation. *

Ghazel. [53]

Yea, every dulcet speech o' thine is e'en a pearl of lustrous ray ; 2
Both sun and moon are moths that round thy Face's taper flit and play.

' The Diwdn of Nesi'mi was printed in Constantinople, in 1298 (1881),
at the printing-office of the newspaper Akhter. There is in my collection a
MS. of the Diwdn which differs in many places from the printed edition.

2 Beautiful and wise words are uflcn compared to pearls.

36o

Thy Face is yonder shining orb from whose effulgent radiance 'tis
The flambeaux of the sun and moon do flare with blazing light ahvay.

O censor, • cast thy rosary and prayer-rug afar from thee,

And gaze on yonder curl and mole, and see what snare and grain are they. 2

The Lovers' Loved One is The Truth, so to The Truth give thou thy life;
For why ? — That frame which loveless is shall likewise ever lifeless stay.

Come, hearken to the tale of Love, nor cheated be by fables still ;
For every preacher's words who sells the Koran are but fables aye.

Through all eternity no ache or ill from wine of Unity

Will reach that toper of The Truth whose skinker is yon narcisse gay. ^

The measure * of the Wine of Unity is e'en the dearling's lip ;

O zealot, make thee drunk from yonder measure, sweet the measure, yea!

Bow down before yon Image of the Merciful, for ne'er repelled
Is man of God who doth yon Image of the Lord adore in fay. *

The sage is he who sees his Lord ; come, see thy Lord, and sage become ; ^
The alien '^ 'tis, who 'fore The Truth is shamed, that 's Satan-like to-day.

Nesimi in thy musky tresses' chain is bound, O Idol fair;

The madman he who all unfettered by those chains pursues his way. 8

' The 'censor,' like the 'zealot' and the 'legist,' is a type of aggressive
conventionality.

2 The comparison of a beauty's locks to a snare and of her mole to the
grain set as bail therein, is common.

3 The 'narcisse' is of course the beloved'^s eye; the idea here is that the
beauty of the loved one's eye intoxicates the lover, but with a spiritual
intoxication that brings no ill.

* The measure, i. e. the cup or beaker.

5 This couplet, in which Nesimi calls upon the reader to adore the Form
of his beloved, made in the image of God, is pure Huriifiism.

6 Referring to the oft-quoted aphorism : ' Whoso knoweth himself knoweth
his Lord.' Nesimi here perverts the true meaning, he bids the reader look
on his beloved, there recognise his Lord, and so become a sage.

■J The 'alien' (to The Truth) is as the 'censor,' the 'zealot' and so on.
8 In the East, madmen are often chained.

36i

Ghazel. [54]

Lo, thy beauty is the feast-tide, yea, the soul is victim there; '
Lo, thy liplct is Life's Fountain, whoso drinks it lives for e'er.

Vea, my heart laid low in ruins is the home of love for thee :
Whence is this that every ruin should a boundless treasure bear? 2

Thou whose Eyebrow is the faithful's prayer-niche, ' and whose Face their

shrine !
Lo, the Lovers' holy temple is the Lord God's Image fair. *

How should zealot or should legist know the mysteries of thy Form ? —
'Say thou, God suftlceth!'* Whence should every brute the secret share?

Thou whose Eyebrows, Hair and Lashes make the Mother of the Book, "
Guide and imam of the faithful is the Koran everywhere. '

Art thou spirit, art thou child of Adam, O thou Fairy-Face? —
For that all who view the fashion of thy Form distracted stare.

Yea, thy beauty is the Maker's grace (exalted be His glore!): —
Grace is aye his wonted custom who hath might and power plenare.

' Referring to the animals sacrificed at the Qurban Bayrami or ' Festival
of the Sacrifices,' which begins on the loth. of Zi-1-Hijje.

2 Buried or hidden treasures are generally spoken of as being concealed
amid ancient ruins: because such treasures were frequently found among the
ruins of old cities. Here Nesimi pictures his heart as a city laid waste by
Love; yet hiding beneath its ruins Love's boundless treasure.

' The comparison of the eyebrow, because of its curved shape, to the arched
mihrab or prayer-niche in a mosque (see p. 224, n. i.) is a favourite conceit.

♦ Here the form of the beloved is conceived as the temple of the lover,
her face representing the shrine (qibla) and her eyebrow the mihrab.

5 In the Koran, xiii, 43, and elsewhere, it is written: 'Say, God sufliceth
(as witness between me and you).' In the present verse this is thrown in
parenthetically.

« See p. 339.

' As thy eyebrows etc. are the Fatiha, thy person is the Koran, and there-
fore the guide of the faithful.

362

O my Lord! yon Gem of purest ray in human Form y-clad;

What the world from whence it cometh? why our mortal shape doth wear?

Though my heart should home midmost thy tangled tresses, — where amiss?
Rizwan's Garth is aye the dwelling whereunto the just repair. '

Since in all things manifested shines thy Form, O radiant Sun, 2
Who hath said, 'The fays are hidden and the houris seen no where.'?

Thou who say'st, ' Uneath 'tis union with the Well-Beloved to win,'
Quit thy ' thou-ness,' cast it from thee; eath thine uneath then and there!

Say what manner flower the rose that I should name it with thy cheek?
Where the garden boasts a smiling rose may with thy Face compare ?

Every wight who knows himself and who hath found The Truth is grown
Knower of the Lord, a Sultan he though name of slave he bear. 3

'Every thing doth perish' save thy Face ; ^ there is no doubt thereof;
See this Face, and how it pointeth to that Face's face be ware. 5

Passion-smit, the heart is fallen dazed within thy tresses ' springe ;
Wildered and head-giddy reels who falls not in that ambered snare.

'Twas the cursed fiend denied the Image of the Merciful; "

Satan he who doth not bow him 'fore 'the Best of Forms'^ most fair.

O Nesimi, Kevser's water floweth in thy speech belike,

For that all who drink that vintage drunken bide thenceforth for e'er.

1 The beloved's rosy face encircled l)y her tangled tresses is Rizwan's
Garth, i. e. Paradise.

2 It is the beloved who is thus addressed.

3 Another allusion to the aphorism mentioned p. 360, n. 6.
* This is the Koranic text quoted on page 353.

5 i. e. look on the beloved's Face and see how this points to (reveals) the
face (aspect) of the Face (Essence) of God.

8 This couplet refers of course to the legend of Satan's refusal to worship Adam.
^ This phrase is taken from the Koranic text quoted p. 338, n. 2.

363

Ghazel. [55]

Thou whose Face is ^Aid from God!' O thou whose Hair is 'Victory near!' •
Thou the Merciful in human Form! 2 thou angel-visage dear!

Wildered I before thy beauty, thou whose locks the basil rile;
Yea, the Paradisal basil is thy jaciqth's perfume sheer.

Curl and cheek o' thine stand there, the Lord ' ascended on the Throne ;' 3
Thou whose eyebrow is the Ka'ba-niche, whose eye the preacher here.

Bare the Secret of thine ambergris-diffusing locks is laid;

Come is God's own Spirit, abrogate are cross and monkish gear. *

Gabriel ' hath revealed the Scripture on the tablet of thy Form,

Thou whose beauty is the Word of God: 'a wondrous thing is here!'"

'Tis the sage who knows The Truth who doth the Lover's Secrets know;
How should he who ne'er hath known himself know aught fitaent his fere?'

WTiosoe'er is sick a-yearning for those azure eyes of thine, —
Lo, his leech thy Jesus-speech, 8 his draught thy dulcet liplet dear.

Zealot, seek not thou to stay me from the love of beauties bright;
For The Truth made Love my portion in the Fore-eternal Year. '

' Koran. Ixi, 13, 'Aid from God and victory near!' The connection between
the beloved's hair and 'victory near' is not apparent.

2 Here Nesimi says in so many words that the beloved is God incarnate.

3 This is the favourite Hurufi text mentioned p. 337, n. 3. Why it should be
quoted in connection with the beloved's curl and cheek is not apparent, unless
these be taken to represent the face.

♦ Formal religions are abrogated now that the Spirit has made manifest
the truth, just as Christianity was superseded when Gabriel revealed the Koran.

* Gabriel, the angel of revelation, brought down the Koran to Muhammed.
fi This last phrase is an Arabic quotation, but not from the Koran.

■" Yet another allusion to the aphorism, ' Whoso knoweth himself knoweth
his Lord.'

8 Jesus, who healed the sick and raised the dead, is the type of the perfect
physician.

9 'The Fore-eternal Year' (literally, 'the lore-eternal iJay J is here syno-
nymous with 'the Day of E-lest,' 'the Day of the Primal Compact' (see
p. 22), the meaning being that before time was, God destined me to love
beauties, and therefore it is vain to seek lo slop me.

3^4

Prate not, schoolman,' of thy schoohnanship to them of Unity;

Hold thy peace ! for why ? — the schoolman weets not of Love's lore or cheer.

Yea, thy Face is Eden's flowery garden, doubt thereof is none,

Thou within whose garth are Rizwan and God's Spirit bulbuls clear, 2

O' Nesimi, since thy rival is thy love, to wit is God,

One are wrath and grace, and one likewise thy rival and thy dear. 3

Ghazel. [56]

Since from yonder lunar Visage now the veil is cast aside,
Lo ! the glorious sun is risen and of gloom is past the tide.

Yea, inebriate* are all things from the wine-cup of thy lip;
Bravo! O pure-hearted skinker, be thy potion sanctified!

Thou for longing for whose cheek in Heaven's heart there burns a flame !
Thou for sherbet of whose lip in Kevser's eye ^ doth water bide !

Thou for whose bright cheek's red rose the tulip's cup with wine is filled !
Thou the wine of yearning for whose eye with sleep the narcisse plied!"

1 The ' schoolman,' another of the ' zealot ' family.

2 Rizwan, who is the warden of Paradise, and the Spirit of God sing as
nightingales in that garden which is thy fair face.

3 This line cannot be satisfactorily translated as the point lies in the double
sense of the word raqi'b, which means (i) 'a guardian,' 'one who watches
over another,' and is so applied to God in the Koran ; (2) ' the rival of a
lover,' such being held to be ever on the watch concerning the movements
of the beloved and her other lovers. Here Nesimi says that since God is at
once his raqi'b \ lf"!^'\''"^ 'ind his beloved, wrath (the attribute of the rival)
and grace (the attribute of the guardian and beloved) are identical.

* The ' inebriation ' or ' drunkenness ' so frequently spoken of in these and
similar poems is of course the inebriation of mystic ecstasy, just as the
'drunkards' or 'topers' are the mystic ecstatics.

5 The word here rendered 'eye' means also 'fount,' and so gives an un-
translatable I'ham or amphibology. The check of the beloved, being red, sug-
gests the flame ; her lip, being what is ' drunk ' or ' sipped ' (i. e. kissed), sug-
gests the water.

fi The narcissus, drooping on its stalk, is often spoken of as languishing
or sleepful.

365

That thy Form, — it is the comment on the Word of God Most High ;
Thou whose Face is ' We have opened,' yea, a door by God oped wide. '

True, thine Eyebrows, Hair and Flashes are the Book of God;'- to him
Who doth know that Book ' with him is knowledge of the Book ' ' 's applied.

Whoso knoweth not the characts writ upon that Form o' thine,
Knoweth not the tale of prayer or fast or of the Reckoning-tide. *

That thy lip is e'en Life's Fountain, that thy breath the Holy Spright,
That thy Visage is God's Image; 'and God knoweth best'" beside.

Sure, thy lip unto the Lover Granter of all Needs " must be,
Seeing to whate'er he prayeth, ' I will answer,' ^ is replied.

On the road to reach the Loved One is duality the veil ;
Ne'er till 'I-ness' is uprooted is the curtain dra\vn aside.

O Nesi'mi, bow thee down before yon Moon; for God to thee

'Worship those my signs, adore, and draw thee nigh!' 8 aloud hath cried.

Ghazel. [57]

' I am The Truth !' I ceaseless cry, for Mansur-like Truth-helped I be !
A bulwark to this city I, who then were fain to gibbet me!

I am the Shrine of all the True, the Loved One of the Lover-crew,
The Mansiir of the worthy few, the Heavenly Ka'^ba, 9 verily !

> Koran, xlviii, i. 'Verily, We have opened for thee an obvious opening,'
(meaning. We have given thee an obvious victory). The connection here is
not very apparent; perhaps it is got at through the meaning of Fatiha (lit.
t Opener'), by which term, as we know, the Hurufis often designate the face.

* See p 339.

' This phrase occurs in the Koran, xiii, 43.

* i. e. he does not understand the truths symbolized by prayer, fasting, the
Judgment-Day, etc. See p. 339.

* The Arabic phrase quoted p. 298, n. i.

« Qdzi-ul-Hajat, 'the Satisfier of (all) Needs,' a title of God.
' The phrase 'I will answer' is from this passage of the Koran, xl, 62,
'And your Lord said: Call upon me, I will answer you.'

8 From Koran, xcvi, 19, 'Nay, obey him not, but adore and draw nigh.'

* i.e. the 'Frequented House,' which is visited by the angels. See p. 37.

366

Tm Moses, for with God alway I parley and hold converse sweet 5
My heart 's Epiphany's Sinai, so I'm Sinai in verity. '

I've won th' Ascension - of yon Eyebrows twain the which ' two bow-
lengths ' tells 5 3
Behold me upon Union's night, from head to foot a radiancy. *

I quaffed the Wine of Unity long since at the Primeval Feast, 5
And drunken with that draught grew I thenceforth to all eternity.

0 Sun, thy Face is 'By the light!' and thy black Hair is 'By the night !' «
Thy lip hath healed my sickened spright, — and that the dolour that I dree !

What way soe'er I turn my face, I see the Loved One in that place;
That I have grieved of grief for thee is all of my felicity.

That Beauty Unbeheld am I, for I am One with all that is;

That Word of the Divine am 1, for in the heart they hymn to me.

In that my being is the glass where show the eighteen thousand worlds, ''

1 am the Image of the Lord, veiled 'fore the base plebeity. 8

' God's revelation of Himself to Moses, and Mount Sinai, the scene of
that revelation, are constantly referred to by the mystic poets.

2 The word here used, Mi'^raj, is that specially applied to the famous ' As-
cension ' or ' Night-Journey * of the Prophet.

3 In the Koran, liii, 19, we have, 'Then he drew near and hovered o'er!
until he was two bow-lengths off or nigher still!' These words refer to the
nearness of the Archangel Gabriel's approach to Muhammed when he was
bringing him the revelation. They are however often quoted as though they
referred to the Prophet's near approach to God on the night of the Ascension.
Nesimi's idea seems to be that he has learned the mystery symbolized by
the beloved's eyebrows which has brought him as close to God as was the
Prophet on the Ascension-Night. It is further inferred that the Koranic phrase
' two bow-lengths ' really indicates the two eyebrows of the beloved, which
are of course shaped like bows.

■* As the Prophet was clothed in splendour on the Ascension-Night when
he was brought into close communion with God.

s See pp. 22-3.

6 In the Koran, xciii, 1-2, God swears 'By the Morning Light! And by
the Night when it darkeneth!' Here Nesimi would make out that the Divine
oath is really by the bright face and dark hair of the beloved. The ' Sun '
addressed is of course the beloved.

'* i. e. the whole universe which, according to the tradition, consists of

367

I am that Hidden Treasure's ' mystery made manifest to all ;
I am that Essence now revealed like to tlie svin for all to sec.

As I Xesimi am the Essence, I to you my hoards disclose ;
A ruin treasure-fraught am 1,2 behold my fair prosperity!

Almost all Nesimi's quatrains are rhymed in what is called
the nuisarra*^ manner, that is, the third line rhymes with
the others. ^

Ruba^'. [58]

Thou for love of whose fair Face doth reel the Sphere,
Yonder Face o' thine the angel-hosts revere.
Doubtless this, thou hast in beauty ne'er a peer;
'Tis the touchstone proves the coin of every fere.

Ruba'i. [59]

Thou who lookest everywhere The Truth to see,
In thyself abides The Truth, yea, e'en in thee.
Ne'er the faithless shall the Prophets' Secret see;
Such sweet-savoured wine is not the demon's fee.

Ruba^'. [60]

From The Truth I'm come; '1 am The Truth!' I cry.
Truth am I, The Truth is in me, Truth I cry.
Look ye how these mysteries uncouth I cry.
Sooth am I, and all the words are sooth I cry.

18,000 worlds. See p. 54- Man is the microcosm reflecting and summing up
in himself all the Divine Attributes, i. e. all that is.

8 The meaning seems to be that I, being man, am the microcosm, the
epitome of Vjie macrocosm of external nature, and the sum of the Divine
Attributes, and am therefore the Image of God, though the vulgar cannot
perceive this.

' The 'Hidden Treasure' so often referred to. See pp. 16-7.
- See p. 361, n. 2.
' See p. 88. n. 2,

368

Ruba^'. [6i]

Plunged have I amid the Sea that shore hath none ;
Fall'n am I upon the Pain that cure hath none;

Seen have I the Moon which hath nor fleck nor flaw;
Found have I the Treasure-hoard that store hath none.

Ruba^'- [62]

Tired and weary of the wordly follv my heart;
Up from sleep of heedlessness awoke my heart;
Shamed of having hurt The Truth, is broke my heart;
Now unto The Truth alone doth look my heart.

Ruba'i. [63]

Come and plunge thee deep beneath Love's ocean-tide,

Mid the Secret of the Unity abide.

Be not Satan, fall not into guile and pride;

Bow to Adam, cast thy haughty thoughts aside.

Ruba'^i. [64]

Verily, The Truth in every thing I see;

I>ose not thou The Truth unless no thing thou be.

Whoso knoweth not The Truth, a rebel he.

Come, for lo, the flood hath swept thy barque from thee.

Ruba'i. [65]

God Most High as very son of man is seen.
Thirty-two the Words are of God's Speech, I ween. '

Know that all the universe is God's own Self.
Man is yonder Soul whose Face the sun is e'en.

1 The '■ Thirty-two Words ' of God are probably the thirty-two letters of
the Perso-Arabic alphabet. See p. 340.

Of Rcfi'^i, the disciple of Nesi'mi, absolutely nothing is
known beyond what ma\' be gathered from his own poem.
The Ottoman biographers and historians, so far as I have
been able to see, ignore him completely. It may be that
when the later Hurufi writings, such as the Istiwa-Name,
come to be examined in detail, some allusion to him may
be found, though up till now these have contributed nothing
to the very little we know concerning him. We are there-
fore compelled, for the present at any rate, to fall back on
Refi'^i's own work, though little indeed regarding the author
is to be learned there.

Towards the end of his poem, which, as we have already
seen, is entitled Besharet-Name or 'The Book of Glad Tidings,'
Refill tells us that before Nesimi became his guide and
director, ' he had been wandering as one whose head reels,
unable to determine what to believe or what to think, and
every day taking up with some new doctrine. His T-ness'
had been a veil before him; and although he was versed

' On the margins of the British Museum MS. of the Besharet-Ndme are
numerous glosses citing the passage from the Koran, the Hadi's or the Silfi
aphorism alluded to in the text, or at least illustrated by it. Thus, against
these lines about the author's master we have the following Arabic sentences,
the first of which is a current saying of the Siifis, while the second is a pro-

verb: — ^J, ^^^i.c '-/« ^J ,-,/« ^ _y 'Had He not been gracious unto
me, I had not known my Lord." 'iA>.c 'i^*.t^ ^XiiJ *.s._:^ ^^^ic 0~^

' Whoso hath taught me a letter hath made me his slave.' This second, which
is intended to show the great value of learning, is specially appropriate in
the mouth of a Hurufi, as it figures learning by a 'letter.'

37^

in various sciences, these had not enabled him to judge
between false and true. ' Now he would be a Sunnf (orthodox
Muslim), now a philosopher; sometimes it was metempschycosis,
sometimes materialism, that won his favour; then again he
would speak as the Siifi sheykhs and treat with contempt
all mundane things. Thus unable to find satisfaction in any
system, he travelled along every road ; and whenever he
heard of a learned man, he knew no rest until he had sought
him out and 'searched his soul from end to end;' but for
all that he could do, he still remained unsatisfied. ^ At length,
he was taught what means the 'grace of God,' and taught
by that Zephyr ^ of mercy from the 'Grace of God,' by him
who seeth man alike with the bodily and the spiritual eye,
by that Martyr of the love of the 'Grace' of the All-Glorious,
who, though he hath lain for months and years in bonds,
hath never complained of his sufferings or concealed the
Mysteries that ought to be declared. * When this Nesi'mi
declared unto him the meaning of the Grace of God, the
veil was rent, and his darkness was turned into light; for
this teacher was to him as Khizr proffering the Water of

1 A marginal gloss to this passage cites Koran, xxviii, 56: 'Verily thou
canst not guide whom thou dost like; but God guideth whom He pleaseth ;
for He best knoweth who are to be guided.'

2 The marginal gloss here is from Koran, xiv, 31: 'And the likeness of
an evil word is as an evil tree, which is felled from above the earth, and
hath no staying-place.'

3 The word Nesim means 'Zephyr 5' so the name Nesimi might mean 'He
of the Zephyr.'

* We have here two glosses. One is from the Koran, iii, 25 : ' Thou
honourest whom Thou pleasest, and Thou abasest whom Thou pleasest; in
Thy hand is good. Verily, Thou art mighty over all.' The other is this Hadis-i

Qudsi, or Tradition in which God is the speaker : a^Afl-ikc .JLaXv.£ .^a
i^AJO LiLs ».XA.Ai .^/O J *.XXaS K'*JS.M*.c ^.~A ^ ' Whoso loveth me, him I

love: and whom I love, him I slay; and whom I slay, verily I am his Blood-
wit." Mr. ISrowne says this Tradition is constantly cited in the Mahabbet-Name.

3/1

Life, which he took and drank, and lo, all his difiiculties
passed away and tlic enigmas of the Koran became clear.
Then Nesimi bade him go and teach the truth to the people
of Riim, expounding unto them those Mysteries. It was thus
needful for him to speak in Turkish; so he laboured for some
days and produced this Besharet-Name, which was finished
on the first Friday of the Fast (i. e. of Ramazan) of the
year 8ii (iStli. Jany. 1409).

Thus all we know of Refi"^! is that he was an earnest
seeker after God, that he was persuaded of the truth of the
doctrines of the 'Grace of God' (i.e. Fazl-ullah) by Nesi'mi,
and that at the bidding of that teacher he wrote on these
same doctrines a Turkish poem, entitled Beshriret-Name
which was finished early in 811 (1409).

The Besharet-Name is a comparatively short work, ' and
is in mesnevi verse. The metre is that of "^Ashiq's Gharib-
Name and other old mesnevis, and the prosody is by no
means always accurate. The style is prosaic in the extreme,
and it is rare indeed that any flash of poetry lights up the
dull and obscure pages. The work is merely a versified treatise
on the Hurufi doctrines; and most probably was written in
verse simply for the reasons mentioned in an earlier chapter,
namely, that it was then the custom to clothe religious and
philosophic thought in verse, and that in Turkish it was
easier to write in verse than in prose, which as yet was
hardly formed.

The Besharet-Name is marked by the same complete ab-
sence of method or system of arrangement which characterises
almost all the writings of those Eastern transcendentalists.
The author begins by discoursing on the virtues of the 'Names,'
which, however, are themselves composed of the Letters ;

• As there is a gap between the folios numbered 19 and 20 in ih'e British
Museum MS., I am unable to state the precise length of the poem.

372

so the 'Thirty-Two ' Letters' are the elements of all the Names,
and consequently of all existent things; a saying which, he
adds, comes from the Prophets, so there can be no mistake
about it. The Letters then are the roots of Speech, which
is really uttered Thought, and therefore eternal and undying
as God Himself. The Word (i. e. Thought) of God is not
distinct from God Himself, as speech is not other than
the speaker. The Word of God is the source of all things,
uncreated and eternal, first and last, hidden and manifest.
So if we take this Word away from things, there remains
no trace of any thing. This Word is then the essence of
being, therefore we must try to understand it.

Now in Man are made manifest all the Names, ^ so in
Man we shall find the Prophets and the Truth, for in him
are all things hidden and manifest. He is at once the centre
of the universe and the builder thereof, its cynosure and its
monarch. All things in existence are his, as is the kingdom
alike of the highest and the lowest. Whoever then can find
the Way to that Word which is made manifest in Man shall
be delivered from the anguish of 'Thou shalt not see Me;' ^
and whoso knoweth the truth concerning Man can like Jesus
raise the dead to life. The greatest of all things is the Throne
C^Arsh) of God, that Throne whereupon He ascended when He

1 Throughout the MS., wherever the sacred words ' thirty-two ' would occur,
they are replaced by a symbol something like ^rii ■ The signification of this
symbol is given in a marginal note on folio 3 b.

2 See p. 62. The gloss here is Koran, ii, 29 : ' And He taught Adam
tlie names, all of them.'

'•'• The gloss here is Koran, vii, 139, where God, in answer to the request
of Moses that He would show Himself to him, says : ' " Thou shalt not see
Me; but look upon the mountain, and if it remain steady in its place, thou
shalt see Me;" but when his Lord appeared unto the mountain He made it
dust, and Moses fell down aswoou.' Compare Exodus, xxxiii, 18-23.

All the saints yearn for the sight of God; Refi'i would say that His Word,
i. e. Thought, i. e. Essence, is made manifest in Man, and that therefore whoso
has eyes to see Man as he really is, has attained to the bliss of beholding God.

1 '7 '*

had finished the work of creation, and the Prophet hath said
that the Heart of the Behever is the Throne of God, and
again that the Heart of the Behever is the House of God ; '
but there is nauglit in the Heart except the Word. So Man
is the Throne and God is the Word; this is the creed of all
the Prophets. The wise and holy have said that the Heart is
the place whereinto descend the Mysteries of God ; so if
thou would seek God, O beloved, seek Him in the crumbling
tomb of the broken Heart. ^

A little farther on Refill dilates on the virtues and mysteries
of the human Face. In the P^ace of Man, he says, are made
clear the meaning of the pilgrimage and of prayer; whoever
hath seen and understood that Face hath looked upon and
read the Being of God. 'Ope thine eye,' he cries, 'look into
the Face of Man, that thou be not far from the Glorious
Truth.' Man, formed of dust, is the life of the world, and
the knowledge of him the medicine for heart's ills. Whoso
looketh on the Visage of Man perceiveth the secrets of the
Eighteen Thousand W^orlds. * He hath four rows of eye-

• On the margin are quoted the Hadises, A.!-' c;^*J ../o^.«jI w*^i 'The
heart of the believer is the house of God,' and xUt \^.c q'^j-^' >r*^
' The heart of the believer is the throne of God,' and "^5^ c^j i c*^''*^. ^
^^^^' A.».*Ji wJli gX*A*>.j ^ -jL^-w 'My earth containeth Me not,

neither doth My heaven; but the heart of My believing servant containeth Me.'

* This Tradition, in which God is the speaker, is quoted on the margin :

&-%w,l\x*J' ,v^' ^ 3..,vXiM«J' wi^iiJJl Axc ^xaUjI 'Seek Me in the broken
hearts and by the crumbling tombs."

' The margin bears this Hadi's : iiLL^ ^flJ' OJ*"" ■*'^ f^) O'****
iU.AJi]l jM^ y-^-^J' ' Ve shall see your Lord even as ye see the moon on the

374

lashes, two eyebrows, and one mass of hair, seven in all,
and these are called the Mother of the Book. The cheeks
and the nose (i. e. each nostril, or each side of the nose)
yield four lines, which, with three more for the lips (perhaps
the two lips and the line between them) give other seven;
that is fourteen lines altogether in the human Face. Double
this, and there is twenty-eight (the number of the letters in
the Arabic alphabet); but know that no demon can under-
stand these mysteries! To these fourteen lines answer another
fourteen, namely the Fourteen Letters of the Koran, ' which
Letters are the Attributes of God, and are undying like His
Essence. Like Him, they are immanent in all things; for His
uncreated Word holds the Kingdom of things. '^

Refi'^i next proceeds to interpret in Hurufi fashion the
Koranic text, 'And the moon is split asunder.'^ The hair,
he says, is not to be reckoned (in this case) as one, but as
two, for Abraham parted it, and Muhammed's own tresses
bear witness to this. ^ Now if the hair be parted, a straight

night when it is full, on the Resurrection-Day.' And equally clearly can ye
see your Lord in the human face, — is the Hurufi inference.

1 i. e. the detached letters which stand at the beginning of certain chapters
of the Koran. There are fourteen of these letters, and they occur in fourteen
different combinations.

2 Of course the 'uncreated Word of God' really means the Logos, i.e.
the Divine Thouglit and Word regarded as two aspects of one entity; but
ignorant people took the phrase literally and understood by it the Koran,
whence the notion held by some that that book is uncreated and eternal.

3 Koran, liv, i. There ai-e two explanations of this passage. The one is
that the unbelievers having asked for a sign, the Prophet pointed his finger
at the moon wliich straightway appeared split asunder, — a legend which,
though not generally believed, is often referred to by the poets. The second
and more usual explanation is that it refers to one of the signs which are to
herald the Last Day.

* Abraham is credited with the establishment of various practices, such as
paring the nails, using a toothpick, and parting the hair, which Muhammed
is said to have followed, declaring them to have been the customs of that
patriarch.

375

line is seen, this is the Way of God, what is called ' the
Right Way,' ' the which unless one travel, he shall never
behold the vision of delight. Again, there is a line between
the lips, part these like the hair; thus (in two ways) the
meaning of the 'splitting of the moon' becometh clear.

Farther on in his work. Refill has a panegyric on Fazl-
ullah the founder of his sect. Whatsoever existeth, he says,
is but the Divine Names; but the Most Great Name is he,
he who showed to us the true path. All that existeth is
the Word, but the Sultan of the Word is he, to wit, Fazl-
ullah, the Grace of God, the Lord of the Worlds, he to whose
Javidan-Name the poet refers the reader for proofs of what
he has just advanced.

Farther on still, and near the end of the book, occurs
the passage in which Refi"^i speaks of himself and tells how
he had gone on seeking for truth now in one belief, now
in another, till he met Nesi'mi who by expounding to him
the Huriifi mysteries had set his doubts at rest, and then
bidden him place the truth within the reach of the people
of Rum by^ writing in the Turkish language a book explaining
the tenets of their sect. The result of this injunction is the
Besharet-Name, concerning which its author says that though
in outward appearance but a small compendium, in reality
it is worthy of the highest esteem; for 'hast thou, O beloved,
understood what glad news (besharet) it givethr In it the
Essence of the Creator is become known, the promise of the
Prophets is fulfilled, the 'Grace' of the Unsleeping One is
made manifest, the Hidden Secret is spoken openly, the
riddle of the Four Books - is solved.' A few lines farther on

' The Koran, xi, 59, is quoted on the margin: 'There is no beast but He
taketh it by its forelock; verily, my Lord is on the right way.' To the HurUfi
the 'forelock' suggests the hair: the 'right way,' the parting.

2 'The Four Books,' i. c. the Pentateuch, the Psalms, the Gospel and
the Koran.

376

Refill mentions his sources; he says, 'There are here from
the words of the "^Arsh-Name; I have translated these that
they may remain a souvenir, I have written in Turkish many
couplets therefrom ; think not I have strayed from the path
* ® * Most of it (the Besharet-Name) is the word of the Javidan-
Name; whoso understandeth it will become the greatest of
the world. I have also taken sayings from the Mahabbet-
Name. It hath been accomplished from the Three Books of
The Truth.'

The work closes with a supplication to God whom Refi"^i
prays for the sake of Muhammed and Jesus and Noah and
Abraham and Moses, and for that of the Koran, the Gospel,
the Pentateuch, the Psalms and the Javidan-Name to make
him of His true lovers and faithful servants, to admit him
to all the mysteries, and if there be any errors in his book,
to pardon them of His mercy; and further, for the sake of
the Prophets, to forgive his sins and shortcomings, seeing
how he seeketh neither wealth nor power nor any earthly
good, but only to be reckoned among His servants. And
last of all he prays God to manifest His Grace (Fazl).

In the printed edition of Nesi'mi's Diwan ' is inserted a
Turkish mesnevi poem of 144 couplets over which is the
title: Genj-Name li-Mevlana Refill or 'The Book of the
Treasure by Our Lord Reff^i.' The metre of this poem is a
graceful variety of the hezcj ' which, though destined to
brilliant service in the future, had not up till this time been
used in Western Turkish. From a literary point of view the
Genj-Name is much superior to the Besharet-Name, the ver-
sification is smoother, the phraseology more polished. The
poem is less of a Hurufi text-book; in many places it reads
like an ordinary Sufi effusion, though the author's peculiar

I pp. 9-14-

377

tenets, which underhe the whole, often crop up through
the surface.

The poem opens with a glowing apostrophe to Man con-
ceived under a double aspect, namely, in Huriifi fashion as
incarnate Divinity, and in the manner of the philosophers
as the L-oal to which all nature tends. The reader is then
called on to learn of Fazl (-ullah) and Ahmed (the Prophet
jNIuhammed); for whoever taketh these two as guides, unto
him will the mysteries of the Four Books be revealed. He
who knoweth himself knoweth God ; he entereth into Paradise,
and wherever he turn his eyes, he seeth the Beloved; he
findeth the totality of things in himself, and he is Sultan
in this world and that. Such an one is a 'living Khizr;'
for he hath penetrated to the Most Great Blackness, ' and
there hath drunk of the Water of Life. He can therefore
walk the waters and fly through the air, and can traverse
all time and space in the twinkling of an eye; he holdeth
converse with all things, and by his breath can wake the
dead to life. Whomsoever such a 'living Khizr' toucheth he
maketh like unto himself, unfolding to him all mysteries
and laying bare the meanings of rites and ceremonies. The
reader is bidden seek out such a Khizr that his eyes be
opened and he see the Beatific Vision. Thanks to the aid
of Fazl (-ullah), those Khizrs are now to be found in every
corner; but it is only the noble and the free who will seek
them, the base-souled desire not such things.

If the Lover be not of ill-repute among men, he is held
by the initiates to be but immature. ^ He must turn his

' Sewad-i A"zam, 'the Most Great Blackness,' the annihilation of selfhood:

the 'dazzling darkness,' that effulgence of the Godhead which veils It from sight.

* As said Juneyd of Baghdad, a great Siifi saint who died in 298 (910-1):

•* ^ ■* L r* ** 'J L • "

^ -r: -^j- (^

378

back upon the world ; if he seek the Paradise of Light, he
must pass from this dark earth and spread his pinions for
Heavenward flight, he must wing his way to the Spirit World,
leaving all mean desire behind him here.

None the less (and here the Huriifi speaks) he who is
blind in this world will be unable to see in the Other; if
one cannot perceive the Beloved here, he will not behold
Him in the Hereafter. What appeareth manifest There is
to be seen by glimpses here. Paradise, the houris, the angels,
the Bridge, the Balance, all are here; so one must enter
into Paradise here that he may find his way to it There.
If one hath not been distraught by the beloved here, how
shall he be comforted by the Beloved There ? This is the
field, and what one soweth now he shall reap hereafter.

The reader is then called on to study the pictures pre-
sented by the phenomenal world and learn how the Painter
and His pictures are both eternal. Then he may plant his
banner above the heavens; for in that realm first and last,
hidden and manifest, all are one. There in that Spirit World
he may drink with Rizwan from the Paradisal fountains and
walk with houris hand in hand. There is the palace of all
delight, and there are myriad gardens glorious with every
loveliest flower and vocal with the sweetest notes of nightin-
gale and dove. And whoso would attain to this felicity,
let him cast aside all pride, bow down to Man, and so be
merged and whelmed in God.

All the Prophets tell us that every perfection is (latent)
within the soul, so we must be heedful that we be not
slaves of the flesh. If we have knowledge of the things of
this world, these will tell us of the Unseen World. Now

G o

'wAjAj; ' No one attainclh to the degree of Trulh until a thousand righteous
men bear witness that he is an atheist.'

379

Man is Sultan in Either World, and the cure of the soul's
ill; we are bidden look in his face and see the Image of
God ; and whosoever knoweth this knoweth everything that
is; so whoso boweth not down before ]\Ian is rejected, while
the angels and the spheres are the slaves of him who doth.

Whatever is within the veil of Thought is circumscribed
within the Letters. The Two-and-Seventy Sects ' are whelmed
within the ocean of the Letters; but not one of them all
understandeth, not one hath found the road to this city. If
the gnostic find the way to those Letters, he will comprehend
himself and God. It is they who are become the familiars
of this Mystery who have learned the Most Great Name, ^
and through that Name they know all Names, and win to
the heart's desire ; and to every one to whom they give to
drink, they profter the Water of Life.

Then Refi'^i, repeating w^hat he says in the Besharet-Name,
declares that when those enlightened ones cured his ill the

' • The Two-and-Seventy Sects ' is a current phrase for the sects of Islam.
It arose from the following saying traditionally attributed to the Prophet:

' My people shall be divided into three-and-seventy sects, and all of them
shall be in the Fire save one sect.' On being asked which that one sect

would be, the Prophet answered: ^.jUs^^^o' ^ ^f)<^ Lil L« 'That to which

belong I and my Companions.' Naturally, every sect in Islam identifies itself
with this one, which is called the Firqa-i Najiye 'the sect that will be saved,'
in contradistinction to the Firqa-i Halike ' the sect that will perish,' which
embraces all the other seventy-two. The phrase ' the two-and-seventy sects ' thus
properly means only the heretical sects of Islam, though it is frequently employed
as embracing all, heretical and orthodox alike. The Prophet is likewise said
to have foretold that the Jews would be split up into seventy-one sects, and
the Christians into seventy-two.

2 Ism-i .Vzam, the 'Most Great Name (of God),' the mightiest Power in
existence. It was graven on the Seal of Solomon, who by virtue thereof con-
trolled all creatures and all the forces of nature. It is described as that Name
which sums up and includes all the other Names: and by some is said to
be Allah, i.e. 'The God.'

38o

hidden secrets were unveiled before him. We had been, he
says, as it were, dead, and we found Hfe; we had been in
prison and we found deliverance. When we found that Zephyr
(Nesimi) of the Bounteous One, that was the mercy of the
Merciful to us; we drained one draught of his wine, and
we forgot what sorrow was; we learned what are the secrets
of this City, we understood what are the mysteries of the
universe. The poet finally bids the reader come and learn
of him, for he is now the pearl in the ocean of existent
things, the centre of the universe of the Divine Attributes.
The advantages of following this course are set forth, but
the would-be pilgrim is warned against setting out on the
endless road without a trusty guide. 'If, however,' adds the
poet, 'Refill be thy guide, thou shall attain thy heart's
desire.'

Hurufiism produced no other poets of any note; but the
sect lived on till at least the middle of the seventeenth cen-
tury. I have found only two notices concerning it in the
Turkish chronicles, and both of these point to the hatred
and persecution which was apparently the usual lot of its
adherents.

The first of these notices is in the Crimson Peony where
Tash-kopri-zadc in his account of Mevlana Fakhr-ud-Din-i
*^Ajcmi, the Persian doctor who in 834 (i 430-1) succeeded
Mevlana Fenari ' as Mufti of the capital, relates as creditable
to the pious zeal of that legal guardian of orthodoxy the
following instance of ferocious fanaticism. ^ There were at
the court of Sultan Mehemmed II at Adrianople certain
Hurufis who had contrived to ingratiate themselves with
the monarch and to induce him to listen attentively to their
expositions of their doctrine. Mehemmed, who was interested
in philosophical and literary matters, treated these sectaries
with great courtesy and consideration, even going so far as
to appoint special apartments in his palace for their use.
Such marks of the imperial favour roused the suspicions, if
not the jealousy of the Grand Vezir Mahmud Pasha, who

' See p. 261, n. i. Fendri was the first, Fakhr-ud-Din the second Mufti of
the capital; the latter, who was a pupil of the famous Seyyid Sherif-i Jurjdni
died in 865 (1460-1), and is buried at Adrianople.

2 The story is repeated by 'Alf and by Rif^at Efendi in his history of the
Sheykhs of Islam, entitled Devhat-ul-Mesha'ikh or ' The Tree of the Sheykhs.'

382

cast about for some means whereby he might remove the
obnoxious favourites. He bethought him to call in the aid
of Fakhr-ucl-Din, the official head of the Law, to whom he
represented the danger of allowing the Sultan's mind to be
poisoned by the pernicious notions of such pestilent heretics.
But before deciding, the Mufti wished to hear for himself
what the Huriifis had to say; so it was arranged that the
Vezir should invite the sectaries to a banquet and inquire
of them concerning their doctrine, while the Mufti, hidden
behind a curtain, would be able to hear all, without the
heretics guessing his presence. This plan was carried out;
and the Huriifis, being led to imagine that Mahmud was
favourably inclined towards them, spoke freely, one point
leading on to another, till the subject of the Theophany
in man ' was reached. This was too much for the Mufti; as
Tash-kopri-zade says, 'the pot of his wrath boiled over with
the fire of zeal,' he dashed from his hiding-place and began
to curse and revile the astonished speaker. The latter, terri-
fied at the furious apparition, fled from the Vezir's house
and made for the palace. Thither the Mufti followed him,
seizing him in the very presence of the Sultan, (who appa-
rently had not the courage to protect his client), whence he
dragged him to the Mosque of the Three Galleries. ^ He there-
upon bade the mu^ezzins summon the people to the mosque,

1 In the original, Huliil, i. e. ' the immanence of God in creation,' a genei^al
Siifi idea but strained by the Huriifis and the sect called Hululiye to mean
,.,^ore especially the immediate Theophany presented through the fair, whence
they deduced the lawfulness of contemplating such (while according to the
canon, women should be veiled in public), to which the Huriifis at any rate,
added the obligation to worship such as being incarnations of the Divinity.

2 The Uch Shurfeli Jami' or 'Mosque of the Three Galleries' (the 'galleries'
here meant are the external galleries on a minaret whence the mu^ezzin gives
the call to worship) is one of the oldest mosques in Adrianople, having been
built by Murad H. It has four minarets, which are reputed to be the highest
in the world.

383

and on their assembling, he mounted the pulpit and denounced
the Huriifis and their blasphemies, declaring that it was needful
they should die, and that whoever lent his aid in accom-
plishing their death would in Heaven be rewarded with a
great reward. So the luckless Huriifis were taken from the
mosque to the Oratory ' and there burned. It is related that
the Mufti, who in his frantic zeal was blowing the fatal fire,
approached so close to this that the flames caught the long
beard for which he was famous.

The second glimpse that we get of the Huriifis is in the
pages of Latifi. Among the poets whom this writer has entered
in his Tezkire is an obscure versifier called Temennayi; and
it is noteworthy how the biographer who is so courteous to
Nesi'mi has none but hard words for this accursed heretic,
— a fact which may perhaps strengthen the idea that Latifi
and the other writers who speak so fondly of that poet did
not regard him as at heart a follower of Fazl-ullah. Con-
cerning this Temennayi, Latifi says but little ; we are told
that he came from the neighbourhood of Qaysariya, that he
was a qalender or wandering mendicant dervish, ^ and that
he was one of those blasphemers who say that man groweth
as the grass and dieth as the grass. He made a collection
of books about the Huriifi doctrine and about metempsy-
chosis, and gathered around him a band of materialists and
heretics 'upon each and all of whom be the curse of God!'
These reprobates used to declare that man is the Macrocosm
and the theatre wherein God displayeth Himself, and so
whenever they saw a beauty they used to bow down in
adoration, saying: —

' The name Musalla or ' Oratory ' is given to a large open enclosed space
outside a town, where worship is performed on occasions when the congre-
gation would be too large to be accomodated in any of the mosques.

2 See p. 357, n. i.

3^4

' O thou Idol, theatre of God art thou !

'Perfect compend of the Word of God art thou!'i

*And so they walked in the ways of Satan, and held all
forbidden and questionable things for lawful. And by an
unreasonable interpretation of their own they found every-
thing that is in the scriptures in the human form; moreover,
they reckoned it martyrdom to die for their blasphemies,
and took as their watchword this quatrain of their master
Fazl-ullah : —

' In the kitchen of Love except the fair they slay not.

' Those lean-souls, - — the loathly spirits there they slay not.

'So thou be Lover true, from slaughter fly not.
' Unclean in sooth is whosoe'er they slay not.' 3

In the time of Sultan Bayezid, adds Latifi, some of those
schismatics were destroyed by the sword and some were
burned. "* The biographer gives the three following couplets
(the first and second of which are Turkish, the third Persian)
as examples of Temennayi's 'blasphemous nonsense: — '^

2 The ' lean-souls ' i. e. the orthodox persecutors of the Hurufis. The meaning
of the quatrain is that as the beautiful-souled, and they only, are martyred
in the cause of Love, the true Lover will not shun martyrdom.

This Persian quatrain, attributed to Fazl-ullah in the printed edition of Latifi,
is given (more correctly) on page 8 of the printed Di'wan of Nesi'mi under
the heading: •LS'iAJj'iAjS^j ^^^'i^.J' j}.*)..:^]! iAaav..!' j»'^r ^^ 'of the words

of the glorious Seyyid, he who is known as Khudavendgar, i. e. as ' The
Master.' I cannot say whether this was a title of Fazl-ullah.

* Latifi probably refers to the endeavour to exterminate the qalenders which
Sa'^d-ud-Din says was made in 897 (1492) in consequence of the attempted
assassination of Bayezid II by one of their number.

5 '^Ali has transferred Latifi's account of Temennayi to his History; but

385

'Siifi, become a qalender, pluck out that beard and hair;
'This tittle-tattle passeth, and those arc to thee a snare.' '

' Be no fool, nor give for something ta'en on trust the cash of life !
'Siifi, ope thine eyes, the Houris, Heaven, and Face of God are Here!'*

'Yonder grain of green 3 the wiiich within his hand the gnostic holds, —
'Thousand mysteries he seeth through the vision it unfolds.'*

As I have failed to discover any record of later move-
ments on the part of the Hurufis, I am inclined to think
that the activity of the sect did not extend much beyond
the close of the fifteenth century. Such organisation as the
body may have possessed was probably destroyed in the
persecutions to which, according to Latifi, it was subjected
in the reign of Bayezid II. But that it still dragged on for
quite a century and a half a more or less precarious existence
is evidenced by the facts that one of the Hurufi MSS. in
Paris was transcribed in 970 (1562-3)^ — for none save a

Hasan Chelebi and Riyazi make no mention of him. I cannot answer for
Ashiq, as the leaf is lost from my MS. of his Tczkire on which the notice
of Temennayi would have occurred.

The qalenders used often to pluck out the hair of the head and face. This
'tittle-tattle,' i.e. this trivial world. 'A snare,' the beard etc. on which men
like Fakhr-ud-Dfn are wont to pride themselves. The comparison of hair to
a snare (because of the threads of the latter) is common.

' Habbet-ul-khazrd, ' grain of green,' probably some seed with hashish-like
properties which those qalenders used for its intoxicating effects.

* That which contains the Istiwa-Ndme and the (possible) ^Arsh-Name
(anciens Fonds Pers. 24). The MS. of the Mahabbat-Name (Suppl. Pers., 107)

386

believer would endanger his life by transcribing or possessing
a textbook of a proscribed sect — and that Katib Chelebi,
writing about a century later, says of the Javidan-Name,
which he correctly calls Javidan-i Kebir, 'this is a book in
Persian prose by Fazl-ullah the Huriifi who wrote it con-
cerning his doctrine ; and it is well-known and circulates
among the Hurufi sect,' — from which words it is quite clear
that Huriifiism existed as a distinct form of belief in the
middle of the seventeenth century. When it passed away is
unrecorded; but all recollection of it seems to have disappeared
from modern Turkey.

The Turks arc. not a fanatical people; they have never
persecuted any sect merely on account of its religious opinions.
The massacres that have from time to time desolated different
parts of their dominions have in reality been provoked by
political or social causes, not by religious animosity. If the
victims have generally been members of a particular sect
or community, this arises from the facts that religion and
race arc in the East almost convertible terms, and that the
former is turned into a political tool, and used as a potent
lever by the incendiary and revolutionist. Men of this
class invariably play upon the religious feelings alike of the
people whom they wish to incite and of those whom they
seek to exasperate, — a course which in modern times has
the additional advantage of enabling them to misrepresent
the result of their machinations as an outburst of barbarous
fanaticism. So long as a community is content to live quietly
and obey the law, it may hold whatever religion it likes
without molestation from the authorities. This has been the
rule from the very foundation of the Ottoman Empire. If

was transcribed in 895 (1489-90). The Cambridge MS. of the Javidan-Name-i
Kebfr is undated, but Mr. Browne believes it to have been copied in the
fifteenth century.

3«7

the fate of Nesfmi seem to contradict this statement, it will
be enough to recall the fact that the poet was put to death
in a city then outside the limits of the Turkish state, and
by men not of Turkish but of Arab race. It may also have
been observed that the Mufti who brought about the murder
of the Hurufis at Adrianople was a Persian, not a Turk.

It is then fair to assume that there must have been some-
thing over and above their religious tenets which led to the
persecutions to which the Iluriifis were undoubtedly sub-
jected. It is not very hard to surmise what this something
was; indeed it is pretty clearly suggested in some of the
verses of Refi'^i and Temennayi. The leaders of the Hurufis,
like many advanced Sufis, were antinomians. When a man
believes himself to be identical with God, he is hardly likely
to consider himself bound by the conventional moral law;
so far as concerns him, there is no difference between good
and evil, all things are merged in the one fact of his own
existence. Such beliefs may lead to no practical evils so long
as they are confined to saints and sages; but when they are
proclaimed openly to all classes of society, and when in
addition the promised Paradise is declared to be here in
this present world, and the houri-brides to be none other
than the beauties of earth, the flood-gates of moral and
social anarchy have been flung open. Here we have the real
explanation of the relentless hostility shown towards the
Hurufis. Of the single-mindedness of such men as Nesi'mi
there can be no question, but no more can there be of
their utter heedlessness as to the inevitable outcome of their
teaching. Dazzled, intoxicated, by what they held to be the
vision of the Truth, they proclaimed from every house-top
the mysteries revealed to them, neither thinking nor caring
what such conduct must lead to. A creed so easy and so
accomodating would at once be seized upon by the self-

388

indulgent and the dissolute; and we shall in all probability-
be guilty of little injustice if we take it that the band of
sectaries who gathered round Temennayi consisted for the
most part of desperate and lawless fanatics who made religion
the cloak under which to perpetrate every species of abomi-
nable outrage. Between such and the guardians of the law
there could be no peace.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Scribe and his Sons.

Salah-ud-D in. Yaziji-oghli Me hemmed.

While Bayezi'd the Thunderbolt was winning and losing
kingdoms and while his sons were rending the Turkish lands
with civil war, a quiet student known as Katib Salah-ud-Din
or 'Salah-ud-Din the Scribe' was busy, most probably in
the city of Angora, compiling a book the like of which had
not yet been written in the Turkish tongue. This book,
a full analysis of which is given by Von Hammer, was called
by its author the Shemsiye or 'Solar (Poem),' and is a
versified treatise on the prognostics to be drawn from meteoro-
logical phenomena such as eclipses, halos, rainbows and shoot-
ing-stars, according to the month of the solar year in which
they appear. The information it contains is said to have
descended from the ancient prophets and sages Noah, Daniel, '
Plato and Loqman. - The book, which is dedicated to a

' Daniel is looked upon as the patron and greatest master of the occult
sciences. The creation of geomancy or divination by dots on sand C^ilm-i
reml) and of the science of the interpretation of dreams (^ilm-i ta'^bfr) is
attributed to him.

There would appear to have been two (Sir R. Burton thinks three) dis-
tinct persons who bore the name of Loqman; but they are generally con-
founded in the popular mind. The first, the Loqman mentioned in the chapter
of the Koran (xxxi) called after him, was sumaraed the Sage (Hakfm), and

390

certain Qassab "^Ali, or ^Ali the Butcher, though the author
mentions Hajji Pasha (presumably the well-known physician) '
as his patron, was finished in 8ii (1408-9), and contains
five thousand couplets. The style, according to Von Hammer,
who has a high opinion of the value of the contents of the
work, is quite without literary merit. ^

The Ottoman historians have very little to tell us concern-
ing this versifier or his book. Not one of the Tezkire-
writers says a word about him; a brief notice in ^Ali, a
doubtful line or two in the Crimson Peony, a short entry
in Katib Chelebi, and a few words in a later redaction of
the poet's own work, are our only sources of information.
^Ali says that the Scribe Salah-ud-Din was the father of
the writers Yaziji-oghli Mehemmed and Yaziji-oghli Ahmed-i
Bijan, that he was well versed in the science of the stars,
and compiled a great book on the prognostics deducible
from terrestrial and celestial phenomena, and that he was
most probably born in Angora or some other town of Rum.
This Scribe Salah-ud-Din of "^Ali is probably identical with
the Sheykh Salah-ud-Din whom Tash-kopri-zade connects
with the town of Boli and makes a friend and disciple of
the great mystic Hajji Beyram whom we have already met
as the teacher of Sheykhi. ^ Katib Chelebi enters the Scribe's
book, not under his own title of Shemsiye, but under that
of Mulhime, and says concerning this, that it was first ver-

is said to have been a contemporary of David and to have been related to
Job. The second, also called the Sage, was an Abyssinian negro slave, and
was as ugly as he was wise; he is the reputed author of a collection of fables,
and is thought by many to be identical with the ^sop of the Greeks. Sir
R. Burton's third Loqman was a prince of the ancient Arab tribe of '^Ad,
and was so strong that he could dig a well with his nails.

1 See p. 260, n. i.

2 I have never seen this work, of which, so far as 1 know, there is no
copy in England.

3 See p. 299, n. i.

391

sified by Salah-ud-Di'n, and afterwards altered and improved
by a poet of his (Kiitib Chclebi's) own time called Jcvri.
There is a MS. of Jevri's version in the British Museum, '
in the preface to which that poet says that in former times
a maker of verses named Salah-ud-Din had translated this
Mulhime from Persian into Turkish, but that as that version
is inadequate and the language obscure, he has remodelled
it at the request of a friend.

And this is all we know of Salah-ud-Din the Scribe.

Our information concerning the two brothers Mehemmed
and Ahmed, if not quite so vague, is scarcely less meagre.
We have seen that "^Ali makes these writers sons of Salah-
ud-Din the Scribe; and it is not unlikely that he is correct, ^ as
the patronymic Yaziji-oghli, which is given to them, certainly
indicates that they were descended from someone who was
emphatically known as the Scribe. •'' We are further told that
they flourished during the first half of the fifteenth century,
and that they studied under Hajji Bey ram at Angora.

Sheykh Mehemmed, the elder of the two, is the last no-
table poet of the First Period. His life seems to have been
uneventful; on completing his studies at Angora, he settled
at Gallipoli where he built himself a little oratory looking
out upon the sea. His brother either accompanied him to
Gallipoli or joined him there; and in that town the two
spent their lives, dividing their time between devotional
exercises and the composition of their literary works.

These few facts are all that we can glean from Lati'fi,
Tash-kopri-zade and "^Ali, who alone among the earlier writers

> Or. 1 1 70.

' Katib Chelebi describes the elder as Mehemmed the son of Salih.
3 Vaziji-oghli (pronounced Vaziji-olu) is the Turkish; Ibn-Katib, the Arabic
form of Hhe son of the Scribe.'

392

mention Yaziji-oghli Mehemmed. It is not easy to say why
he is omitted by '^Ashiq and Hasan. These two biographers
seem to have deHberately ignored most of the old reHgious
poets; ^Ashiq Pasha is not so much as mentioned by either,
while Suleyman, the author of the Birthsong, is referred to
only by '^Ashiq Chelebi, and that in the most perfunctory
manner.

In a brief anonymous notice of the author's life prefixed
to the edition of his great poem which was lithographed in
Constantinople in 1280 (1863), a few further particulars are
given; but as no authority is mentioned, we are left without
guarantee for their authenticity. It is there said that Me-
hemmed was born at Qadi-Koy, ' that after studying under
Hajji Bey ram and before settling at Gallipoli, he journeyed
into Persia and Transoxiana in order to perfect his knowledge
by conversing with the learned men of those lands, and
that he was intimate with the Sheykhs Zeyn-ul-'^Areb and
Hayderi Khafi. ^ So strict was the poet's asceticism, accor-
ding to this writer, that during seven years of the time he
passed at Gallipoli he never ate anything that had been
cooked, living wholly upon fruits and such like.

The year 855 (145 1) is generally given as that of Sheykh
Mehemmed's death ; but the writer of the notice just referred
to says the poet died four years after the completion of
his work, and as he himself tells us that his poem was
finished in 853 (1449), this would place his death in 857
(1453). The date of Ahmed's death seems to be quite un-
recorded; but it cannot have been earlier than 857 (1453),
as there is extant an abridged translation of Qazwini's ^Aja^ib-

' Isma'^il^ Haqqi, in his commentary on the Muhammediye, says that the
poet was born at Malghara.

2 This statement is borne out by a passage in Mehemmed's poem where
he mentions Zeyn-ul-'^Areb and Hayderi Khafi as teachers of his.

393

ul-Makhluqat or 'Marvels of Creation' made by him in
that year. '

The brothers, and especially Mehemmed, whose famous
poem is still popular in Turkey, enjoyed a great reputation
for sanctity. Legends have grown up round Mehemmed's
name. "^Ali tells us how in his day it was believed that when
the poet was engaged on his great work the mysterious
prophet Khizr - used to come from the Unseen World and
provide him with the solutions of the difficulties he encoun-
tered, a story which may perhaps account for the name
Khizr u Ilyas Maqami or the 'Place of Khizr and Ilyas,'
given to the little mosque he built. ^

The same historian further informs us that such was the
fervour of the poet's love and yearning for God that once
when he was writing the word 'sigh' in his book he sighed
so ardently that a hole was burned in the margin of the
page on which he was writing, ^ which hole "^Ali declares
he has himself seen in the autograph manuscript of Mehem-
med's work. This autograph manuscript is still preserved in

' See the British Museum Catalogue of Turkish MSS. The "^Ajd'ib-ul-
Makhliiqat is a well-known cosmographical work written in Arabic by the
famous old geographer Qazwini who died in 682 (1283-4).

2 See p. 172, n. i.

3 Tash-kopri-zade says that Mehemmed himself gave this name to his
mosque and quotes in evidence the following quatrain which he attributes
to the poet: —

•This is the Place of Khizr and Ilyas;

' Pray here and offer salutation.

' Vaziji-oghli saw those (i. e. Khizr and Ilyas) here,

••Therefore he built this lofty place.'
Khizr and Ilyas (Elias) are often confounded with one anotlicr and with
St. George.

* It must be remembered that sighs are always represented by the Eastern
writers as the fumes arising from a heart that is on fire with love or anguish.

394

the poet's mausolevim at Gallipoli, and is mentioned by the
late Habib Efendi in his interesting book on celebrated
Eastern calligraphists and miniaturists. ' According to this
author, the manuscript in question, which is written in an
exceptionally beautiful ta^liq hand, ^ was at one time in some
place in Constantinople which was burned down; after the
conflagration the manuscript was recovered, when it was
found that though the margins of the pages were singed,
the text had escaped uninjured. Perhaps in this story we
have a more historical explanation of the marks of burning
which "^Ali accounts for in so highly imaginative a way.

^Ali has yet another story which he brings forward as an
instance of the piety and trust in providence which distin-
guished Sheykh Mehemmed. This holy man was very poor,
and he and his family were often hard put to for a meal.
On one such occasion his wife went out to the bath with
their young children after telling her husband to watch the
pot in which all the food they possessed was being cooked.
While she was out, a beggar happened to pass by the house,
and seeing through the open door the pot boiling, prayed
the saint to give him somewhat for the love of God. Me-
hemmed not liking to send him empty away, gave him the
pot and all it contained. When his wife returned and looked
for the pot, the sheykh told her what had happened, whereupon
she flew into a rage and began to revile him, saying, 'Shame
on thee, thou cruel man! what are these little children to
eat to-night? even suppose we be content to go without,
how should they be so?' Assailed by the abuse of wife and
children, Mehemmed withdrew into his oratory and there

' Khatt u Khattatan or ' Calligraphy and Calligraphists,' published by
Ebu-z-Ziya Tevfiq Bey in 1306 (1888-9).

2 The ta'^li'q is a beautiful variety of handwriting formerly much used for
copying books of poetry.

395

prayed God to provide his family with food. While he was
still praying, some one knocked at the door of the house,
and when his wife came to tell him of this, he said, 'What
is come is the gracious provision of God which thou desirest
and which thou hast made me shame myself by asking.'
And indeed when they went out they saw that a messenger
from the cadi was there bringing them ten difterent sorts
of delicate foods. For it had so happened that that night a
pursuivant from the Sultan had come with some message to
the cadi of the town, which pursuivant being a pious man
and having heard of the fame of Sheykh Mehemmed, had
asked the cadi concerning him. But the cadi, who was a
worldling, had spoken slightingly of the holy man, saying
to his guest, 'Heaven forefend thou should praise hypocrites
such as he I' Whereupon the pursuivant, being vexed, had
declared that he would eat nothing of the delicacies provided
for him unless the sheykh partook of them likewise. So the
cadi, knowing it would be useless to invite Mehemmed to
his house, had sent him a portion of all that was prepared.
And thus, adds ^Ali, was exemplified what is said in the
Koran, 'Whoso bringeth a good work shall receive ten like
unto it.' '

With regard to the younger brother Ahmed, the Crimson
Peony tells us that he owed his surname of Bi'jan or 'the
Lifeless' to the fact that the fire of asceticism had so wasted
his frame that he became frail and fragile as one who is
scarce living. ^

' Koran, vi, i6i.

2 All mentions a report that Ahmed had spent his youth in dissipation;
but one day, having realised the wickedness of the life he was leading, he
had gone to his brother and told him of his repentance, and had expressed
his regret that while he (his brother) had composed so many books that would
ensure for him the blessings of posterity, he himself had nothing to show;
whereupon Mdhemmed wrote the Enwar-ul-^Ashiqin in his brother's name. It

39^

The most important literary works of the two brothers
are an Arabic religious treatise entitled Magharib-uz-Zeman
or 'The Setting-points* of Time,' by Mehemmed ; a Turkish
prose translation of the same, which is called Enwar-ul-
■^Ashiqin or 'Lights for Lovers,' by Ahmed; and a Turkish
metrical version, known as the Muhammediye, by Mehem-
med himself.

The history of how these three books came to be written
is told by Ahmed both at the beginning and end of the
Enwar-ul-^Ashiqin in almost identical words. ^ He says: 'I
had a brother, Mehemmed by name, who was a man of
learning, a gnostic, perfect and excellent, the friend of God,
and the chief of the attainers, ^ and who was moreover the
familiar of the Pole of the World Hajji Bey ram, and the
sterling coin of the saints, and the perfect heir of the Pro-
phet ^ — may God Most High keep him safe in the here
and the Hereafter, and apportion him and his in the Para-
dise of Eden! And I, poor Ahmed the Lifeless, did ever
say to him, 'O brother, the world hath no permanency and
fortune no constancy; let it be that thou draw up a remem-

is impossible to accept this story in face of the positive statements of both
Mehemmed and Ahmed concerning the composition of the book in question.

1 Magharib is the pUual of Maghrib which means the setting place or time
of a heavenly body.

2 The Enwar-ul-'^A.shiqin has been printed several times : in Constantinople
in 1 26 1 (1485), in Kazan in 1861, and twice at Bvilaq, the second edition
being dated 1300 (1882-3); it was also lithographed in Constantinople in
1291 (1874-5).

3 i. e. those who attain to God, who pierce through phenomena and reach
the Goal.

^^ O O-D ? — -

* This expression is probably an echo of the Iladi's sL^j5) ^\*^ ^uAxji
'The learned are the heirs of the Prophets.' In another similar Hadis the
Prophet says, Vxff^l , -JLj X*.^'^\^ , '£k\ iQlc ' The learned of my people

are as the Prophets of the children of Israel.'

397

brance that shall be read in the world.' And he, in com-
pliance with my words, drew up tlie book named Magharib-
uz-Zeman ; and whatsoever there be in the world of Koranic
commentaries and elucidations and ensamples, alike exoteric
and esoteric, he culled from many books and from the
mouths of many perfect gnostics and learned traditionists ;
and from the books of the Sheykhs (mystics) comments on
the Koran and on the Traditions Divine and Apostolic. ' In
short, he gathered the pith of the twelve sciences into one
place. Thereafter he said to me, 'Ahmed the Lifeless, lo,
in compliance with thy word, have I gathered the subtleties,
the laws, the verities of existing things together into one
place; now come thou and turn this book, the which is the
Magharib-uz-Zeman, into the Turkish tongue, that these our
countrymen likewise may gain advantage from learning and
from the light of knowledge.' So in compliance with his
blessed words, poor I completed this book, which I have
named Enwar-ul-^Ashiqin, 'Lights for Lovers,' in the fairest
of towns, the seat of the holy war, "^ Gallipoli. Now this
my Enwar-ul-'^Ashiqin and my brother's poem the Mu-
hammediye both have issued forth from the Magharib.
That book (the Muhammediye) is in verse, this book (the
Enwar) is in prose. Thus it hath so fallen that they ■"' have
written this matter after two fashions; on the one hand they
have versified it that it may be sweet, on the other they
have written it in prose that it may be easy to be under-

> As we have seen more than once, a Tradition (Iladis) is said to be Divine
when God is the speaker, to be Apostolic or Blessed when the Prophet is.

* As Constantinople was still in the hands of the enemy, Gallipoli was at
this time one of the outposts of Islam; so Ahmed calls it dar-ul-jihad or
4he seat of the holy war.' '^Alf says that it was because Gallipoli was thus
an outpost of the Champions of the Faith that Mehcramed chose it for
his home.

3 Nowadays an author would wTite ' we have written ' for Ahmed's '■ they
have written.'

398

stood. And both fashions are good, and esteemed of those
who are worthy of them. Thou wouldst deem the Encircling
Ocean ' had risen and overflowed on either side and had
exposed whatsoever of pearls there be. If thou seek the
'hidden pearl,' ^ read the Enwar-ul-'^Ashiqin; if thou seek
'the hire ungrudged,' ^ read the Muhammediye. Praise be
to God that we two brethren have compiled these two books;
and we have borne these many toils upon this road that
the folk may say, Mercy be upon the sons of the Scribe!'

From this statement, which, as has been said, occurs twice
in almost identical terms in the Enwar, and which, as we
shall see, is also found in substance in the epilogue to the
Muhammediye, we gather that the Magharib, which Mehem-
med compiled at his brother's suggestion, and which forms
the source of the two Turkish books, is a collection of com-
mentaries and other explanations, exoteric and esoteric, on
certain Koranic verses and Traditions Divine and Apostolic.
And such is in fact the substance of the Muhammediye and
the Enwar-ul-*^Ashiqin.

To confine our attention to the former •'' which alone directly

1 See p. 38. ITei-e the Encircling Ocean is intended to suggest the
Magharib.

2 The two expressions, durr-i meknun "• hidden pearls' and ejr-i ghayr-i
memniin Miire ungrudged,' are Koranic. The first is used in lii, 24, where
speaking of the youths of Paradise, it is said, 'And round them shall go
boys of theirs, as though they were hidden pearls ;' and again in Ivi, 22,
where speaking of the houris, it is said, ' And bright and large-eyed maids
like hidden pearls.' But in both these passages the word used for ' pearl '
is lu^lu^, while that employed by Ahmed is durr. The second expression
occurs three times, in xli, 7; Ixxxiv, 25; and xcv, 6, where speaking of
' those who believe and act aright,' it is said that '■ for them is a hire un-
grudged.'

3 The Muhammediye was edited by Kazim Beg and printed at Qazan in
1848. It has been three times lithographed in Constantinople, in 1258(1842-3),
1270 (1853-4) and 1280 (1863-4). The 1258 edition of Haqqi's commentary
thereon contains the complete text of the poem. There is a complete MS. of
the poem in the British Museum (Or. 1040), also an imperfect copy (Add. 6536).

399

concerns us, we find that this poem consists of a series of
explanations by diftcrent authorities on certain passages in
the Koran and the Traditions that refer to certain subjects.
In plan the book falls into three great divisions which deal
respectively with the Creation, the Mission of Muhammed,
and the End of the World. The scriptural texts concerning
these subjects are arranged according to the order of the
events, each being followed by the Turkish metrical para-
phrase of the expositions offered by the several commenta-
tors and traditionists. The subjects themselves are treated
in considerable detail. Thus in the first division, that dealing
with the creation of the universe, the poet commences by
giving the mystic-philosophic account of the beginning of all
things by the passage of phenomena from potential to actual
existence ; after which he takes up the legend of the Light
of Muhammed, and tells how all subsequent beings were
created therefrom. Then we get the traditions as to the
creation of the "^Arsh and the Kursi, the Eight Paradises,
the Seven Heavens, the Seven Earths, the Seven Hells, and
so on ; ' after which comes the story of Adam and Eve, in
whose appearance creation culminates. A rapid enumeration
of the Prophets who succeeded Adam and kept alive the
Faith brings us to the second division of the poem, that
which treats of the life and work of Muhammed. Here, as
in Suleyman's l^irthsong, the historical and the legendary
elements in the story are blended together and presented
to the reader as of equal value. The section is extended to
cover a short account of the first four Khalifas and the
Prophet's grandsons Hasan and Pluseyn. The last section,
which has for subject the end of the world, opens with a
description of the signs, such as the appearance of Anti-
christ, and the irruption of Gog and Magog, that are to

1 As described on pp. 34-9.

400

herald that event; after which it gives a detailed account
of the order of procedure which will be observed at the
Last Judgment, and finishes with a description of the life
of the blessed in Paradise. The section is followed by a
few mystic cantos, after which comes the epilogue.

In the canto 'Touching the Reason of the Writing of the
Book,' which, as usual, occurs at the beginning of this poem,
Yaziji-oghli Mehemmed tells how one day when he was
seated in his cell at Gallipoli engaged in devout meditation,
the 'Lovers' of the town came into his presence and asked
him why he did not publish to the world the glories of the
Prophet, to which he replied that there were already many
books thereon. His friends then proposed that he should
write a work dealing with the commentaries, and this he
consented to do, so God should help him. ' One night he
saw in a vision Muhammed seated, the centre of a radiant
circle formed of his Companions. But all of them were veiled
so that their faces were invisible, and before them were set
china cups filled with water. The poet asked someone who
was there what this meant, and was answered in these words,
'For whom should their veils be withdrawn? and who they
who should be distraught by their beauty? or to whom
should their wine be given? who they who should be the
inebriates of this feast?' When the poet heard this he wept
bitterly and rent his garments; for 'how could any heart
bear this estrangement? could even the hard flint endure
such woe ?' But when the Prophet saw his anguish, he laid
the balm upon his wound, saying, 'Raise the veil from before
thine own heart and seek the radiance of my beauty in
thine own soul.' The Apostle then bade him give his people
the wine of wisdom to drink, and publish his words abroad
to all the folk, so that all nations may know the wonders

' Perhaps this is a poetical version of Ahmed's suggestion.

401

he has wrought and that his words may reach to every
hind. When the poet thus received the ApostoHc command,
he besought God to aid him and set to work, and the result
is the Muhammedfye.

In the epilogue, the author, after thanking God for having
enabled him to complete his work, goes on to say that three
times during the course of its composition the Prophet had
appeared to him in his dreams. The first occasion is that
already described in the prologue; on the second the Prophet
had addressed to him some words of encouragement, bidding
him be of good cheer. On the third he had beheld the
Apostle surrounded by a circle of saintly mystics; and this
time, when the poet, who had his book in his hand, had
knelt down, the Prophet had looked upon him and promised
to teach him. On another occasion, when he was offering
thanks to God and praying for the success of his book, his
old master Hajji Beyram appeared before him and promised
him God's aid and acceptance of this book in which he has
written all that is and all that will be. The saint went on to
compliment him on the style of his poem, and assured him that
the book would become famous and would remain unrivalled,
and that its perusal would bring blessings to its readers.
The poet offered his thanks to the saint, through whose
spiritual influence, he says, he has won success. Some of
the poet's friends then entered the room, and told him that
as his book is unique, he should present it to the King of Persia,
or to the Sultan of Egypt, or to the Sultan of Rum, namely,
Murad the son of Mehemmed. ' This opens the way for a
prayer for the welfare of Sultan Murad and of his son Me-
hemmed who is now seated on the throne. The poet then
proceeds to eulogize the Vezir Mahmud Pasha bin-Qassab

' The Muhammediye is not dedicated to any patron.

402

(i. e. Mahmiid Pasha the son of the Butcher), ^ who, he says,
had been very kind to him, and under whose protection he
had settled at GalHpoH,

Mehemmed then proceeds to tell the story of his own
and his brother's works in almost the very words twice used
by Ahmed in the Enwar-ul-^Ashiqin. Mehemmed says, 'I
had ^ a brother, named the Lifeless, who used to encourage
me, saying, 'O my Soul, thou knowest how fortune hath no
constancy; leave that which shall be a remembrance after
thee.' In compliance with these words, O beloved, I made
the book named Magharib (the like of) which none had seen;
I found whatsoever there be in the world of Koranic com-
mentaries, and of each of these I took the pith. '•■ * * * In
the Magharib I wrote of the beginning and of the end of
the world. I said to the Lifeless, ' Come, now, as I have drawn
up this book, do thou turn it into the Turkish tongue that
it be spread abroad in country and in town.' In compliance
with these words, he completed it (i.e. the translation); he
finished it at Gallipoli. Likewise this (present) book of mine
hath been drawn up, and set in order like (a string of)
pearls. So both of these (i. e. the Enwar and the Muham-
mediye) have come forth from the Magharib. The Sea hath
risen and overflowed on either side. If the former be (regarded),
it is the 'hidden pearl;' if the latter be, it is 'the hire un-
grudged.' Praise be to God that we two brethren have
published abroad these two books. We have borne toil upon

1 Possibly this Qassab or Butcher, the father of Mahmud Pasha, is the
Qassab "^Ali or '^Ali the Butcher to whom, according to Von Hammer, the
Shemsiye is dedicated.

2 It is curious that Mehemmed and Ahmed speak, each of the other, in
the past tense, ' 1 had a brother,' as though the brother in question were
dead. But such was not the case; Ahmed in the same sentence prays that
Mehemmed may be kept safe in the here and the Hereafter, which shows
that the latter was still alive ; while we know that Ahmed himself lived for
some years after 853, the date of the completion of the Muhammediye.

403

this road for this that they may say: Mercy be upon the
sons of the Scribe!'

We are then told tliat the book was finished in the Latter
Jemadi of 853 (July-Aug. 1449). ' After which the poet relates
how on its completion he was summoned in the spirit into
the presence of the Prophet to whom he offered his book
and whose blessing he implored for Gallipoli, its people and
magistrates, and for himself, his parents and his brothers,
and for his teachers Zeyn-ul-'^Areb and Hayderi Khafi. In
the third couplet from the end he says that he has called
his book Er-Risalet-ul-Muhammcdi'yc or 'The IMuhammedan
Treatise.'

The author does not say why he gave this title to his
poem, but Tash-kopri-zade is probably right in saying that
he so named it because it deals chiefly with matters con-
nected with the Prophet, and was written at his command.
Certainly the poet has contrived to make his work into what
is practically a long panegyric on the Apostle by his in-
sistence on the tradition that the creation of the world was
brought about because of the Creator's love for the Light
of Muhammed and was accomplished through the medium
of that Light. ^ The full title, Er-Risalet-ul-Muhammediye, is
hardly ever used; the book is almost always called simply
'the Muhammcdiye.'

The form of the Muhammediye is very peculiar, the poem
being written in a series of sections in alternate monorhyme
and mesnevi. At first the monorhyming sections are arranged
in regular alphabetical order, exactly as the ghazels in a
diwan; but when the whole alphabet has been gone through

' Mehemmed here says distinctly that his Muhammediye was finished in
853; he has just spoken of his brother's Enwdr as 'completed;' but Ahmed
himself says that he finished his book in 855. How arc we to explain the
discrepancy •

2 See pp. 34-5.

404

once, the strictness of this rule is relaxed, and only an ap-
proximation to alphabetical order is observed. The sections
are interrupted at irregular intervals by a couplet introduced
by way of refrain. This couplet is repeated about half a
dozen times and is then replaced by another. In prosody
the poem shows yet greater diversity; several metres are
employed, the author himself says that he has made use of
seven varieties.

The changes from monorhyme to mesnevi and vice versa
seem to be quite arbitrary; no principle or method is ap-
parent; it looks as though the writer had, when he got tired of
the one, passed into the other, heedless of all considerations
outside his own fancy. He does not wait till he has finished
a subject, or even a particular exposition of a subject, to
make this change, but jumps from the one form to the
other in the middle of a paragraph, sometimes almost in
the middle of a sentence.

Of the poetic value of the Muhammediye it is not possible
to speak very highly. The subjects of the book — the
legends concerning the beginning and the end of all things,
and the mission of the Prophet — might in the hands of
a great poet, a Dante or a Milton, have been moulded into
some splendid epic; but not even a great poet could have
fashioned from them a work of art, keeping to the lines
laid down by Mehemmed. Artistry and poetry alike are
outside the question when a writer sits down to paraphrase
one after another all the commentaries he can find on a
scries of texts. But to do Mehemmed justice, his aim was
neither artistry nor poetry, but simply to convey instruction
in a pleasant way; 'they have versified it that it may be
sweet,' says Ahmed. And that this aim has been abundantly
realised is shown by the great popularity which his work
has always enjoyed and still enjoys, especially among the

405

less highly educated, and more particularly with old ladies. '
IMehenimed is as a rule quite simple in his language, except
in the case of the rhyme-words in the monorhyming sections,
which are often very unusual Arabic terms. So difficult are
many of these that in a great number of cases it has been
thought necessary to explain their meaning on the margins
in the popular lithographed editions.

Latifi bears witness to the esteem in which the Muham-
mediye was held in his time when he says that it is much
appreciated by teachers of the commentaries and traditions
on account of its accuracy and lucidity. The biographer
himself had a high opinion of the work, the study of which,
he declares, is fraught with advantage for the faithful. He
specially praises a qasida which he says contains many
veiled allusions to the Siifi mysteries. ^

• Elderly ladies of a devout turn of mind often hold meetings for the
reading of the Muhammediye. On such occasions they assemble at the house
of one of the wealthier of their number. After performing an ablution, each
wraps a white cloth over her head (as women always do when saying the
canonical prayers); a prayer or two is then repeated, and when these are
over, and all present have seated themselves, the most learned among them
opens the Muhammediye and intones therefrom a passage of greater or less
length. This performance is repeated time after time till the whole poem has
been gone through, when it may be recommenced if the party is so minded.
That these pious souls do not always understand everything they read or
hear, in no way detracts from their satisfaction.

' This qasida opens with the lines : —

^->.jLs^> Q^j*:! iV^ c;^:^.' i'»^P v.Ji.^i' j,jL>JJ

•O Leader of the lovely ones, from Whence to Whither dost Thou go?

' Upraise the twyfold veil therefrom, and whiles Thy beauteous Visage show !'
The • twyfold veil ' of the second line probably refers to the hijab-i niirani
or 'veil of radiance,' and the hijab-i zulmani or 'veil of darkness,' spoken
of by the mystics, terms which may be taken to mean respectively good and
evil as manifested in phenomena, for all phenomena are veils interposed
between the human soul and the One.

4o6

A commentary on the Muhammediye, entitled Ferah-ur-
Ruh or ' The Joy of the Soul,' was written by Isma^il Haqqi
who also commented on the Koran, the Mesnevi and other
famous works, and who died in 1137 (1724-5).

It is said that a Persian translation of the poem was made
by the contemporary Persian writer who is best known under
his surname of Musannifek or 'the Little Author,' '

Tash-kopri-zade and ^Ali tell us that Sheykh Mehemmed
is the author of a commentary on Muhi-ud-Din bin-'^Arebi's
famous work the Fusus-ul-Hikem or ' Gems of Philosophy.' ^
But of this production the former critic does not speak
very favourably, as he says that the sheykh passes over the
real difficulties in the work he is professing to elucidate. A
commentary on the Fatiha is mentioned in a note to the
Crimson Peony; which commentary, it is there said, is directed
specially against the heretical sect called Vujudiye.

Ahmed-i Bijan is credited with two cosmographical works
named respectively Durr-i Mekniin or 'The Hidden Pearl'
and ^Aja'ib-ul-Makhluqat or 'The Marvels of Creation;' the
latter, as already said, is merely an abridged translation of
Qazwini's well-known work of the same name, and was
finished about the time of the capture of Constantinople,
i.e. 857 (1453).

In the following passage, " which occurs at the beginning
of the Muhammediye, the author has versified the mystic-
philosophic account of the origins; his subject is the passing
of what are usually called the Essences (Mahiyat), but by

' This surname was given to the celebrated scholar '^Ala-ud-Din "^Ali on
account of his having begun his literary career at a very tender age. He was
born in Persia in 803 (1400-1), and settled in Turkey in 848 (1444-5), where
he died in 875 (1470-1).

2 See p. 60, n. 2.

3 This passage, it may be remarked, is unrepresented in the Enwar-ul-
'^Ashiqin.

407

him arc called the Verities (Haqa'iq), ' from Potential to
Actual existence.

According to the theory here followed, the Essences of all
things are the result of the working of the Divine Faculties,
here called Names. But the existence of these Essences, or
Verities as the poet prefers to call them, is in two degrees,
firstly Potentiality (Subiit), secondly Actuality (Vujud). When
the Essence passes from the former into the latter, it is
said to be actualised (mevjud). The absence or presence of
the asar, that is 'works' or 'properties,' is held to deter-
mine whether existence be 'potential' or 'actual.' Thus the
fire in an unstruck match is in 'potential existence,' as the
'properties' of fire, i. e. light, heat, etc. are absent; but when
the same match is struck, the fire has sprung into 'actual
existence,' as is evidenced by the presence of heat, light and
the other 'properties' of fire. In this poem the Essences or
Verities are represented as still in Potentiality and as craving
to be passed into Actuality.

From the Risale-i Muhammediye. [66]

The Kingdom His! the Praise, the Thanks! for His the Generosity!
Creation His! and His Command! Aid His! and Liberality!*

All self-sufficing was The Truth; His Being the sheer Absolute;
The Names, they were the Attributes, merged yet in His Ipseity. ^

' They are what some would call the Fixed Prototypes (p. 55), what others
would describe as the Word (i. e. Thought) of God.

2 This couplet, which in the original is in Arabic, is merely interjectional,
having no direct connection with what follows.

' The poet here declares that the Divine Names and the Divine Attributes
are identical, and merged in the Divine Ipseity (see the passage from Sheykh
■^Abdullah translated on pp. 60-1). By the Divine Attributes are meant quali-
ties inherent in the Divine Nature, such as Love, Power, Wisdom and Jus-
tice (see p. 61). In the first of the following couplets from an Arabic poem
we have the opinion of the Mutekellimfn or Scholastics on the nature of
these, and in the second we have that of the Siifis: —

4o8

His Name is thus His Self; epiphany His Actual Being is; '
Yet He is higher than the twain : know thou this glorious subtlety. 2
The Attributes were things desirable, the Names degrees therein, 3
The Verities resulted thence ; ■* and all of these cried prayerfully : — ^

'How long, how long, do we remain here in the stores of the Inane!
' Hid in the Unity's domain, in nothingness, in cecity !
' Yea, truly high-enthroned are we ! what lords of lofty might we be !
■•But yet the Most Hid Secret we; our need, it is epiphany!
' 'Tis ye who are our prop and stay ; 'tis ye who are our kings to-day ;
''Tis ye who are our inward ray. Vouchsafe to us existency!
' If we be manifested, ye shall likewise manifested be ;
' And shown will be the glorious Law, and known the bright Sagacity.' 6

Soon as the Names heard this they flocked together, to one place they came,
And cried, 'O Lord! reveal us now without or stint or secrecy!'
So firstly all the Names besought the Name Creator to this end;
It said, 'The Name the Able seek, to fashion is its property.'

ff o

' The Attributes of God are not identical with His Self,

' Neither are they other than He that they should be separable from Him.

' The Name» is not other than the Named

' With them of Insight, noble of lineage.'

' Epiphany (tejelli), that is, the Divine self-manifestation through pheno-
mena, is here said to be the Actualised Existence (Vujiid) of God.

2 He Himself is higher than His Self and higher than His Actualised
Existence, in that He embraces both.

3 The Attributes were thus desirable, i. e. good, noble things (qualities);
and the Names are now defined as 'degrees' therein, a definition the reason
of which will appear a little farther on.

* Here the poet tells us that the Verities (i. e. the Essences) result from
the (nature of the) Names, which themselves mark degrees or stages in the
series of the Attributes, which in their turn were merged in the Divine
Ipseity.

* The next four couplets are the prayer of the Verities, still in Potentiality,
to be clothed with Actuality. They complain of the length of time they have
remained in Potentiality, unrealised, and although lying in the very bosom
of God, they cry for manifestation, that is for Actualised Existence. The
prayer is addressed immediately to the Names.

6 i. e. the Law and the Wisdom of God.

409

The Name the Able said, 'Revealment with the Name the Wilier lies;

'The actual is at its command; to show, in its authority,'

Then cried they to the Name the Wilier, 'Do thou manifest us now!'

It made reply, ' 'Tis by the Name the Knower must be signed this plea.' '

The Name the Knower said, ' Vour revelation is well-understood;

'But learn ye that the Name the Self compriseth all the Names that be.' 2

Then all the Names together flocked, and to the Name the Self they said,
'Orders upon thy order rest; things are in thy authority.'
Then said the Name the Self, ' I am indeed that Most Great Name, ' so I
' Do point unto the Named who is God who doth as willeth He.
' Exempt His Self from aught of contradiction and from aught of flaw !
'Aloof His Nature that thereto should e'er reach perspicacity!

(O King Most Great to whose Perfection declination ne'er may win!

To whose fair Beauty for whose Glore imagination ne'er may win !) *
'Do ye without His Glory's veil abide while I before Him go
'And see how He will order since ye cry with importunity.'

It went before the Very Self, and said, ' My Lord ! and O my Lord!
'As Thou the Knower art of secrets, there is naught concealed from Thee.'

• The several Names (Knower = '^Alim : Wilier = Murid: Able = Qadir:
Creator = Bari), each that of a Divine Attribute, mentioned in these couplets
indicate the series of faculties necessary for the making or creation of anything.
If we would make or create anything, we must first have the Knowledge how
to do so; but the Knowledge alone is not enough, we must also have the
Will; but Knowledge and Will are insuflficient without Ability; then, when
we have these three, we begin our work of Creation. These steps, Knowledge,
Will, Ability, indicate what the poet means in the fourth couplet when he
speaks of the Names being ' degrees ' in the series of the Attributes.

This passage further teaches us that what is last in result is first in inten-
tion The intention which started the activity among the Names was Creation,
the result in which it ended was Creation.

2 The Name of Self (Ism-i Zat) is simply Allah i. e. God ; but as God
comprises in Himself all His Attributes, so does the Name of God comprise
in itself all the Names of His Attributes. The word Allah is thus defined:

OUXJI \cksi*o tA4.,^i «.4..:^U>*.^i' ^y?^-^' V*'^'^ 't'^e necessarily Existent

who compriseth the totality of the Attributes of Perfection.'

* For the expression 'the Most Great Name' see p. 379, n. 2.

♦ This couplet again is simply intccjectional ; it occurs several times, by
way of a burden or refrain, in the earlier pages of the Muhammedi'yc. It
forms no part of the Name SelTs speech.

410

The Self replied, ' I am that Self the independent of degrees :

' From Actual and Manifest nor hurt nor profit is to Me.

' But since the Verities implore and earnest pray of all the Names,

' And since Our Names desire that thou should grant this thing they crave

of thee,
' Go now, command the Names, and let these straightway the command obey,
'Thus let the Verities come forth in untold multiplicity.
' Let every Name bestow on every Verity that seeks therefor
' Such virtue as its strength may bear : Wrought through all worlds be this

decree!' •
What time the Prototypes 2 to come to realised existence sought
They cried, 'We fear lest there should overtake us dire calamity!'
So then the Name the Schemer came, and said, ' First, Name Sustainer ! list ! 3
'Let the Contingents' order stand; that naught destroy it do thou see!'
When heard of this the Name of Self, it made two Names vezirs, and these,
The Schemer and the Executor which achieves all things that be.

The author here passes oft" into the legend of the Light
of Muhammed, and tells how this was the first thing created
and became the medium through which all subsequent beings
came into existence.

' The Divine order is that every Name shall bestow on every Verity that
desires it, such Divine grace as that Verity is capable of receiving; and that
the Names shall carry out this command through all the (Five) Worlds (see
pp. 54-6) which, already potentially existent, are on the verge of being ac-
tualised.

2 Here the author uses for the first time the term A'^yan 'Prototypes' to
describe what he has hitherto called the Verities.

' On passing from the Potential to the Actual, the Verities, now Actualities,
have become in the fullest sense contingent beings; their nature therefore
lies between true existence and non-existence. To save them from the latter,
some additional strength must be given to the fonner; so the Name Sustainer
(Ism-i Rabb) is first summoned, and the contingent creation made over to
its charge.

CHAPTER IX.

Minor Poets of the First Period.

Lyric Poets. Mevlevis. Romancists.

We have now made the acquaintance of all the more
noteworthy among the West-Turkish poets who flourished
between the years 1300 and 1450. But the list of pioneers
is still far from complete. The names of several others who
in this First Period essayed to speak in verse are recorded
by the biographers; while others again, concerning whom
these writers are silent, bear witness to their own life and
labours in the works they have bequeathed to us.

Of the former class, those mentioned by the biographers,
are the lyric writers Sheykh Mahmiid, Kemal-i Khalveti,
Kemal-i Ummi, Ezheri, Khaki and "^Ata'i.

The first of these, Sheykh Mahmiid, is mentioned only
by "All, who says that he was an ancestor of Suleyman
Chelebi the author of the Birthsong, and that on the suc-
cessful passage of the Dardanelles by Sultan Orkhan's son
Suleyman Pasha, an expedition which laid the foundation of
the Ottoman power in Europe, he presented that Prince with
a congratulatory address in which occurs the couplet: —

412

Thy saintship unto all thou'st shown, thy prayer-rug launching on the sea 5 '
Rumelia's collar 2 hast thou seized with the hand of piety. ^

All the others appear for the first time in Lati'fi, whose
brief notices concerning them are reproduced, with scarcely-
more than a few verbal alterations, now by one, now by
another of his successors. All these obscure versifiers wrote
during the first half of the fifteenth century, that is, at the
beginning of the period of literary activity which followed
the Tartar invasion.

Of Kemal-i Khalveti we are told only that he was a dis-
ciple of Hajji Beyram, ■* and that he wrote Sufiistic verses,
as an example of which Latifi quotes this couplet : —

Ne'er may he who is not foeman of the flesh be friend of Godj
Dwells the Paradisal Glory midst the Pride of Earth's Abode ? 5

' It is told of several of the saints of old that when they wished to cross
a river they used to spread their prayer-rug on the surface of the water,
seat themselves thereupon, and be miraculously carried over to the other side.
The allusion in the verse is to the raft on which the Prince and his com-
panions crossed the strait at dead of night.

2 i. e. the shore of Rumelia.

,.-— w (jii.*ji iiJLi} Laj' o*— *«^^ ^i^-^^v. f»5; I'Y-**^^

* In my MS. of Latifi it is further said that this poet lived in a cell in
'■ the tower of Gemiiyan ' (Germiyan qulesi).

This verse is replaced in my MS. of the Tezkire by two others of which the
following is one : —

'But a loan is every sweet one's beauty from His Beauty sheen;

' Nay, through Him it is that evei-y sweet one's beauty sweet doth show.'

413

Concerning Kemal-i Ummf, who was a dervish of Larende
ill Qaraman, Lattfi tells the following story which he says
he heard among the dervishes. Once Kemal-i Ummi and
the great poet Nestmi were lodging as guests in the tekye
(dervish-convent) of the then famous mystic saint Sultan
Shuja^ ' when unknown to and without the permission of
that holy man, they caught a stray ram belonging to him.
This they slaughtered and were preparing to cook when the
Sheykh discovered them, and, annoyed at the libcrt)' they
had taken, he laid a razor before Nesfmi and a rope-girdle
before Ummi, thus indicating to each what manner of death
he should die. Nesimi was, as we know, flayed for blasphemy,
and it is said that Ummi was hanged for a similar offence.
The verses of the latter were of a contemplative character,
dealing chiefly, according to "^Ali, with the transitoriness of
wordly things. These lines are given by Latifi and repro-
duced by '^Ali : —

Verses. [6 7]

How many a Khan 2 within this khan 2 hath lighted!
How many a King on this divan hath lighted!
An ancient caravanseray the world is
Where many and many a caravan hath lighted.

'All gives another couplet: —

vJ^X£ i^Ui'-^ ^ *-*-J^ J^j^ v_jjLc (^' yS

'O gnostic, come, nor on this false and lleeting world thy heart bestow;

'Nor vulture-like, on carrion light, an so the hawk of One-ness thou.'

• This Sultan Shujd'^ is probably Sheykh Shujd'^-ud-Din of Qaraman who
flourished during the reigns of Mehemmed I and Murad H, and whose life
is given in the Crimson Peony.

2 The word Khan has two meanings: 'a Tartar sovereign' and 'an inn.'
As the former, in Turkey it is a title of the Sultan; in Persia it is given to
many among the upper classes.

414

A guest within the world's alberge art thou now
Where many a traveller pale and wan hath lighted.
A-weeping came they all, a-weeping went they;
Say, who of these a joyous man hath lighted ?
Not one hath found a theriac for death's bane,
Yet here full many a sage Loqman ' hath lighted.

Ezheri of Aq-Shehir was a contemporary of Ahmedi and
Sheykhi. His personal name was Nur-vid-Din (Light of the
Faith) whence, according to Latifi, he took his makhlas of
Ezheri, which means ' He of the Most Brilhant.' "^Ah' says
that he was also known as Baghban-zade or ' Gardener's son,'
from which designation Von Hammer is inclined to derive
the makhlas. ^ Latifi while admitting that the verses of this
writer are brilliant and artistic in expression, pronounces
them to be common-place in conception, and adds that the
poet held but a mediocre rank among his contemporaries.
The biographer quotes these couplets which describe how
Fortune favours the worthless : —

Silver by handfuls doth the fool obtain ;

The wise man hath not in his hand a grain. ■^

Wrapt in rush-mat, see the sugar-cane a-tremble in the field 5
Look then how upon the onion's back there lieth coat on coat. *

• For Loqman the sage, see p. 389, n. 2.

2 Von Hammer's derivation is probably erroneous, although the word ezhert
appears to occur occasionally in Arabic in the sense of ' florist.' See Dozy's
'■ Supplement aux Dictionnaires Arabes.'

"^Ali criticises the second line of this couplet, saying that had the poet written :
' Look then how the onion weareth sheeny raiment coat on coat,'

415

Khtiki was one of those West-Turkish poets who lived
and wrote outside the Hmits of the Ottoman dominions. He
was a citizen of Qastamuni in the days when that town was
the capital of an independent state, and there he resided
during the reign of Isma'^il Bey, a ruler the date of whose
accession seems to be unrecorded, but who was deposed in
favour of his brother by the Ottoman Sultan, Mehemmed II,
in 863 (1458-9). ' Khaki's verses, which were mostly mystical,
are said to have enjoyed considerable reputation in his own
time; but after the annexation of Qastamuni, other and more
brilliant poets arose there, and the works of this old writer
fell into oblivion. Latifi quotes a few of his verses, of which
the following is the best : —

Flout me not, although ye see my garment rent, O comrades mine!
I too once was of the holy ones, but Love hath wrought my shame ! 2

*^Ata^i is said by Latifi to have been born in Adrianoplc
and to have been the son of a Vezir named '^Iwaz Pasha
who distinguished himself by beating back an assault which
the Qaraman Turks made upon Brusa while the Ottoman
civil war was in progress. Latifi's further statement that '"Ata'i
was a younger brother of Suleyman Chelebi the author of
the Birthsong is not, as "^Ali implies, necessarily erroneous,
but as we are distinctly told that "^Ata^' was but a youth
in the time of Murad II, it is most probable that there is
here some confusion. ^Ata^i, it appears, was as remarkable

the verse would at once have had more point and been more correct in
expression. The sugar-cane of course typifies the sweet-souled; the onion, the
coarse or vulgar-natured.

' Isma-il Rcy was the seventh of the eight rulers who form the dynasty
called sometimes Qizil-Ahmedli, sometimes Isfcndyarli.

4i6

for his personal grace and beauty as for his talents and ac-
complishments; and on the death of his father, Sultan Murad
desired to enrol him among his boon-companions. But the
young man dreaded the dangerous honour, and excused
himself in a poem which he presented to the sovereign. '
According to "^Ashiq, this poet died while still in his youth.
'^Ata^"s verses, though now long forgotten, must have been
thought well of in the fifteenth century; for we read that
two of the most notable of the poets who succeeded him,
namely, Ahmed Pasha and Nejati, were not above taking hints
from his Diwan. The biographers give one or two instances
of this. Among the couplets quoted by "^Ali as illustrative
of '^Ata^"s style is the following: —

Her tresses do the hyacinth with but one hair enthral;

Her teeth with but one grain the pearl of lustre fair enthral. 2

• "^Ashiq and Hasan say that it was Mehemmed II, not Murad II, who
made this proposal to "^Ata^i; but the dates suit better with the statement of
Latifi and "^Ali that it was Murad.

More interesting than any of those ahnost forgotten versi-
fiers, not indeed on account of cither the extent or the
quahty of his work, but because he is the first of a long
series of royal poets, is Sultan IMurad II.

Although certain members of the House of "^Osman, no-
tably Prince Suleyman, had already shown an interest in
poetry and in poets, none had, so far as we know, himself
essayed the art. But from this time onwards it is the ex-
ception when a Sultan does not cultivate poetry. Of the
twenty-eight sovereigns who have succeeded this Murad on
the throne of "^Osman, seventeen have written verses, some
at least of which arc in our hands. Again, besides these
eighteen poet-Sultans, a considerable number of Imperial
Princes who never wore the crown have practised the art.
Of course the work of those august rhymers differs greatly
both in extent and in merit; in some cases we have a com-
plete Di'wan, in others but a line or two; while sometimes
we encounter passages of great beauty or sublimity, and
at others find only a tangle of insipid verbiage. But such
inequality in no wise interferes with the fact that a very
marked and altogether exceptional feeling for poetry is
hereditary in the House of "^Osman, which House can
show probably a greater number of cultivators of the art
than any other royal line whether of ancient or modern
times. '

' The following is the list of the poet-Sultans: when the writer made use

4i8

The life and achievements of Murad II belong to the
history of the Ottoman Empire, not to that of Ottoman
poetry. All that we need recall here is that he helped on
the work of re-uniting the members of the West-Turkish
family by the recovery of five of the seven little kingdoms
annexed by Bayezid and re-established by Timur, leaving
only those of Qizil-Ahmedli and Qaraman to be gathered
in by his successor.

We have already seen how vigorous became the growth
of intellectual life in the time of this Sultan, and we have
tried to find an explanation for the efflorescence in more
than one direction. It may be that among the circumstances
which helped to bring this about, the personal character of
the Sovereign — always an important matter in the East —
was not without influence. For this old King did what he
could to foster learning and culture among his people. We
read in Lati'fi and the others, that two days in each week
Murad was accustomed to hold assemblies of poets and
other persons distinguished in letters or science, when all
manner of literary and scientific questions were debated. It
was a frequent custom at such meetings to propound some
question which those present would freely discuss, the Sultan
himself usually joining in the debate, after which prizes and
honorary titles were given to those who were judged to
have acquitted themselves best. We are further told that

of a makhlas, this is placed within brackets after the name: Murad II 5 Me-
hemmed II (^Avni); Bayezid II CAdIi); Selim I (Selimi); Suleyman I (Mu-
hihbi); Seli'm II (Selimi); Murad III (Muradi); Mehemmed III ('Adlf);
Ahmed I (P.akhti); Mustafa I; ''Osman II (Farisi); Murad IV (Muradi);
Mustafa II (Iqbali); Ahmed III; Mahmiid I (Sabqati); Mustafa III; Selim III
(Ilhdmi); Mahmiid II C^Adli). Verses by all of these royal authors are published
in the fourth volume of '^Ata's History (Tarikh-i "^Ata), Const. 1293 (1876).
The complete Divvans of Bayezid II(?), Selim I and Suleymdn I have been
printed.

419

whenever Murad heard of any poor but deserving man of
talent in his kingdom, he took care to find him some em-
ployment suited to his peculiar gift.

That Sultan Murad wrote much poetry is improbable; in
any case very little of his work has reached us, the two
following fragments — the first a couplet, the second a quat-
rain— being the only authentic specimens we have: — '

E'en although no right be mine to dare to crave one kiss of thee,
Vet whene'er the wise one knoweth, what of need for speech can be ? 2

Cupbearer, bring, bring here again my yestereven's wine;

My harp and rebeck bring and bid bespeak this heart o' mine.

What while I live, this mirth and this liesse beseem me well ;
A day shall come when ne'er an one may e'en my dust divine. ^

The late Professor Naji ^ suggests that this quatrain may
have been composed by the Sultan on returning to his quiet
life at Maghnisa after the victory at Varna.

It would seem that the making of verses was not the
only accomplishment of Sultan Murad; for the author of

' "^Ata gives a ghazel which he says is by this Sultan ; but as he does
not mention where he found it, and as it is unnoticed by the earlier writers,
its genuineness is open to doubt.

•• L> ^- > I n- •• ^

dLJL:^_>w ^yi \_i ^^\ y>^i ^^'^ Q^^jJ OjLfi

^-♦j'y S.M*~^ c^wyO.fc-i' X-S' xJir r)»r-^ —J

♦ Professor (Mu allim) Naji was a very dislinguislicd modem poet and
critic who wrote many valuable articles on the poets of the Old School. His
name will be frequently mentioned in the course of this History. He died in
Ramazdn 13 lo (1893).

420

the already-mentioned work on calligraphy and calligraphists *
enters him among the Ottoman penmen who were distin-
guished by the excellence with which they wrote the suls
and neskh hands.

Sultan Murad II succeeded in 824 (1421), and died in

855 (1451)-

Habib Efendi, see p. 394, n. I.

Up till now, as the reader may have observed, the school
of Hajji Beyrani of Angora has contributed a greater number
of poets than any other dervish community. Although the
influence of its founder has been gre^t, the Mcvlevi order,
which afterwards became the chief centre of literary mysti-
cism in Turkey, has so far yielded only one poet. Sultan
Veled, in whose Rcbab-Name we have the prelude to nearly
all the mystic poetry that has followed. The traditions of
the Rlevlcvi dervish-order have always been literary, thanks
no doubt in the first place to the genius of its illustrious
founder, whose Mesnevi has ever been held amongst the highest
achievements of Persian poetry. Owing in great measure to
the influence of this wonderful book and of the other poems
of Jelal-ud-Di'n, Persian became, if the expression may be
allowed, the official language of the order; and consequently
such poetry as the members wrote during the first few gene-
rations was almost wholly in that tongue. Thus the First
Period can show hardly any Turkish verse due to Mevlevi
poets. In after times it became the fashion to write in Turkish;
but even though the Mesnevi itself was translated into that
language, a good acquaintance with the Persian tongue was
always held a necessary accomplishment for the serious
Mcvlevi.

When Sultan Veled, the son of Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din-i
Rumi, died in 712 (1312), he left four sons and two daugh-
ters, the names of the former being Chelebi Emir 'Arif,

422

'^Abid, Zahid and Wahid. Three at least of his sons succeeded
him in the generalship of the order, which afterwards fell
to Emir '^Alim, the eldest son of Chelebi Emir '^Arif who
had died in 719 (1320). Emir ^Alim was followed by his
son Emir ^Adil who held office for forty years.

The spiritual dynasty thus founded has lasted to the present
day, and is therefore as old as the Imperial House. The
Chelebi Efendi (such is the special title of the general of
the Mevlevi order) ' who still holds his mystic court at Qonya
is the lineal descendant of the author of the Mesnevi. It
would appear that once only was the chain broken; this
was during the latter half of the sixteenth century, when
for about eighteen years the generalship was either in abeyance
or held by an outsider. Chelebi Ferrukh Efendi, who had
succeeded his father Jenab Chelebi Khusrev Efendi, had been
deposed in consequence of the intrigues of certain evil-
intentioned persons; but on his death in lOOO (159 1-2), the
succession was restored to the family of Jelal in the person
of Ferrukh's son Chelebi Bustan Efendi.

Of the early Chelebi Efendis whose names have been
mentioned, only Emir '^Adil seems to have written Turkish
verses. From these, '^Ali Enver ^ quotes the following: —

' See p. 151, n. 3.

2 Esrai' Dede, himself a celebrated Mevlevi poet, compiled a Tezkire oi-
Biographical Dictionary of the poets of his order. Of this work, which was
finished in 121 1 (1796-7), I have so far been unaljle to procure a copy.
An abridgment, however, was published in 1309 (189 1-2) by ''Ali Enver
Efendi, which presents the more important facts recorded in the complete
work along with a selection from the verses therein quoted. '^Ali Enver prettily
calls his resume the Sema'^-khane-i Edeb or ' Auditory of Culture,' the name
Sema-khane or ' Auditory ' being given by the Mevlevi's to the hall wherein
they perform their rites, that being the place where they hear the voices of
the Host of Heaven, and enter into ecstatic bliss. Von Hammer, who had a
copy of Esrar's work, attributes it by a strange error to Sheykh Ghalib, an
illustrious friend of the real author's, and a yet greater poet than he.

423

Yonder heart by tracery of earth unscored

Cometh keeper of the Mysteries to be 5
Mirror-holder to the Tablet the Preserved,

Double grows it of the Script from doubt that 's free. '

There was another branch of the Mcvlana's family which
for a time was scarcely less illustrious than the line of the
Chclebi Efendis. Mutahhara Khatun, one of Sultan Veled's
two daughters, married Suleyman Shah, a member of the
royal house of Germiyan, ^ and from this union were born
two sons, Khizr Pasha ^ and Ilyas Pasha.

Khizr, who died in 750 (1349-50), had a son called Bali
who is famous in Mevlevi annals under the surname of Sultan
"^Aba-piish-i Veli or Prince Felt-clad the Saint, a title given
to him because he was the first scion of the House of Ger-
miyan to assume the distinctive Mevlevi costume, which is
made of felt. It is reported that Timur, who visited this

The meaning is that the pure heart, free from worldly cares and desires, is
able to receive impressions in the Spirit World (see pp. 56-9). Such a heart
is here figured as holding a mirror before the Preserved Tablet (see p. 35)
whereon all things, and notably the original of the Koran, are inscribed, and
as becoming, througli the reflection thus cast on it, the double of that Book
in which is nothing doubtful. The Koran is so described because at the be-
ginning of the second chapter occur the words; 'That (i.e. the Koran or
its original) is the book! there is no doubt therein!' But here the Preserved
Tablet symbolises the Eternal Verities.

2 Who this Suleyman Shah was, I have been unable to discover. The House
of Germiyan was founded in 707 (1307-8), Veled died in 712 (13 12); so
Suleyman may have been a brother or son of Germiyan Bey the founder of
the dynasty.

' According to the legend, Khizr Pasha received his name because on the
day of his birth the Prophet Khizr appeared and, taking him out of his
nurse's arms, carried him off into the Invisible World. \ week afterwards he
was discovered on the top of a mountain where he was being tended by a
lioness, he having in the meantime attained the size and intelligence of a
year-old child.

424

saint, confessed to his courtiers that he was filled with awe
at the majesty of the mystic's presence. According to Enver,
^Aba-push died in 890 (1485), aged one hundred and twenty
years. *

Ilyas Pasha, the second son of Mutahhara Khatun and
Suleyman Shah, had two sons, Jelal Arghun and Shah Chelebi.
The former, who died in 775 (1373-4), wrote (apparently in
Turkish) a mesnevi poem entitled Genj-Name or 'The Book
of the Treasure,'^ from which Enver quotes this couplet: —

'Tis frenzied greed of gain that mal<es the world a land of ruins drear
'Tis Being and Not-being fills each mind on earth with awe and fear. 3

The latter, Shah Chelebi, who died in 780 (1378-9), does
not appear to have written any Turkish poetry.

These princely mystics had each a son; Jelal Arghun's
being named Burhan-ud-Din; and Shah Chelebi's, Shah Me-
hemmed Chelebi. Both of these wrote Turkish verses. Bur-
han, who died in 798 (1395-6), is the author of the following
ghazel : —

' There must be some confusion here. Khizr, tire father of ^Aba-piish, is
said to have died in 750 (1349-50) j if this date is correct, and if the latter
was 120 years of age at the time of his death, this must have occurred in
870 (allowing him to be born the year his father died); if on the other hand
he died in 890, he must have survived his father 140 years.

'^Aba-piish had a son, as celebrated as himself, called Sultan Diwani. This
mystic, who wrote Turkish verses under the pen-name of Sema'^i, died in 936
(1529-30).

2 The same title as Refi'^i gave to his shorter poem. The ' Treasure ' in
these titles is an echo of the famous Iladis ' I was a hidden treasure, etc'

.lX-JOj-xJ 5 l3^_j \4.jI-£ \-^^ ^j*^> 0'"H5

425

Ghazel. [68]

Since my sad soul is come the Loved One's mirror bright to be,
O'er the directions six of earth I flash their radiancy. '

Though talismans an hundred guard the portal of desire,
With saintly favour's scimitar I cast it wide and free. *

Who looketh on me deemeth me a tenement jaf clay,
While I'm the ruin of the treasure-gems of Verity. ^

To me is manifest that which is hidden to the world;
In sooth I'm e'en the orbit of the Eye of Certainty. *

No self-regarder may he be who my heart-secret shares;
For like the vocal flute my home within the veil doth be. ^

Hurlian established hath his claim, fulfilling each demand;
What though he say, 'I'm worthy heir of my high ancestry!'*

The other brother, Shah Mehemmed Chelebi, wa.s appa-
rently fond of improvising. As an instance of his talent in
this direction we arc told that one day when he was seated
by his father, two dervishes, one wise and one foolish, began

' For the Six Directions see p. 43, n. 3. Since the poet's soul is become
the mirror in which the Beauty of the Beloved is reflected, it (his soul)
has illumined all the earth.

2 The word tevejjuh, here translated 'saintly favoui,' has much the same
sense as muraqaba, mentioned p. 180, n. 2, and means the spiritual assistance
vouchsafed by a saint to a devotee or by a master to his disciple.

"' For the connection between ruins and treasures see p. 361, n. 2.

* For the Eye of Certainty, the second degree of certain knowledge, see
p. 328, n. I. The poet here regards himself as the orbit or socket in which
this Eye, this inward light, is situated.

' The flute is the sacred instrument of the Mevlevis: it does not regard
itself through its eyes or holes: it lives concealed within the veil — the word
perde, besides meaning ' veil,' means ' a musical note,' so the soul of the flute
may be said to be expressed through the notes it gives forth.

* The claim to be a worthy descendant of Jelal by fulfilling the conditions
of being a mystic and of being a poet.

426

to dispute in their presence, when the former somewhat dis-
courteously addressed his opponent as 'Thou log!' whereupon
the latter's anger flared up, and he turned complaining to
the sheykh. Shah Mehemmed immediately answered: —

Yonder evil heart up-flareth fiercely at the name of log,
Witness bearing that 'tis fuel meet to feed the Fire of Wrath!'

.0 A-^L^ ^.-jL-i-jiA-J^il

Although the fame of Ahinedi and Sheykhi has echpsed
that of all rivals, those two great men were by no means
the only romantic poets of the First Period. We have al-
ready seen that "Ashiq Chelebi mentions briefly and with
scant ceremony an old writer called Ahmed who left a ro-
mantic poem, entitled Suheyl u Nev-Bahar or 'Canopus and
Vere.' There are other old romancists to whom no biogra-
pher accords even a brief and unceremonious mention, authors
of whose existence we should be wholly unaware were it
not that their works happen to be in our hands. There must
be others still — probably many others — whose writings
either have been lost or have so far remained unnoticed,
and of whom therefore we as yet know nothing.

A romancist concerning whom the biographers, though not
altogether silent, yield only the most meagre information,
is that Sheykh-oghli whom we met among the poets that
gathered round Prince Suleyman at Adrianople, and who
we learned was author of a poem which ^Ashiq and Katib
Chelebi call the Ferrukh-Name. ' This Sheykh-oghli (or
Sheykh-zade, as he is sometimes styled) is said by "^Ali to
have borne the pen-name of Jemali and to have been the
sister's son of Sheykhi, and further to have been the writer
of the epilogue to that poet's unfinished Khusrev and Shin'n,
"^Ashiq, Hasan and Katib Chelebi also say that the writer
of this epilogue was named Jcmali, the two former making

' See p. 256.

428

him the sister's son, the last the brother of the deceased
poet; but none of these three identifies this Jemah' with
Sheykh-oghH the author of the Ferrukh-Name. ^

'^Ah' who alone among the biographers that I have been
able to consult, - does more than mention Sheykh-oghli,
tells us in addition to the facts just mentioned that this
poet was originally in the service of the King of Germiyan,
under whom he held the offices of nishanji ^ and defterdar. *
This would fall in with the story of his relationship to Sheykhi
who, it will be remembered, was a native of Germiyan where
he spent his life. On the suppression of the Kingdom of
Germiyan, Sheykh-oghli appears to have recognised Sultan
Bayezid as his sovereign; for it was to him, according to
both ''All and Katib Chelebi, that he dedicated the poem
which the latter entitles Ferrukh-Name, but the former Khur-
shid u Ferrukh-Shad. After the battle of Angora, when
Bayezid's son Suleyman set himself up as an independent
ruler at Adrianople, Sheykh-oghli joined his circle, and this
is the last we hear concerning him. ^Ali says that he wrote,
besides his romance, a number of qasidas, mostly of a ho-
miletic description, that he was a diligent student of the
Persian masters, and that he composed a 'parallel' to the
R Qasida ^' of the great mystic poet Hakim Sena^i. ^

In the first volume of his History, under the entry Dsche-
malisade (Jemali-zade), Von Hammer describes, from a manu-

' Sec p. 304.

'• According to Von Hammer, his name appears in Sehi's Tezkire.

3 The Nishanji was the officer at a Turkish court whose duty it was to
inscriljc the Tughra or Cipher of the Sovereign over all royal letters-patent.
The office was practically equivalent to that of Chancellor.

* The Defterdar was the Treasurer at a Turkish court.

■■> See p. loi.

" Hakim Sena^i is the earliest of the great Siifi poets; some authorities
place his death as early as 535 (1140-1), others as late as 576 (1180-1). His
greatest work is a mesnevi entitled Iladiqa 'The Garden.'

429

script beloni^ing to the Royal Library at Berlin, what is
unquestionably the romance of Sheykh-oghli, the Ferrukh-
Name of *^Ashiq and Katib Chelebi, the Khurshid u Ferrukh-
Shad of "^Ali. This manuscript, according to Von Hammer's
account, which is the only notice of it that I have seen,
was transcribed in 807 (1404-5). The date of composition is
not mentioned; but the poet says that he began his work
when Shah Suleyman was King of all Germiyan; and he
adds that this King had a son named Fakhshad. This Shah
Suleyman of Germiyan, who is perhaps identical with the
Mir Sulman to whom, according to Latiff, Ahmedi presented
his Iskender-Name, ' seems to have died before the poem
was finished, as the canto in which his name appears is
immediately followed by one in honour of 'Rayezid Bey
the son of Orkhan.' The personage thus described was cer-
tainly of royal blood, says Von Hammer, who, however,
imagines him to have been the King of Germiyan's Vezir.
As a matter of fact we know from the statements of the
Turkish authorities that the individual meant was none other
than the Ottoman Sultan Bayezid (the grandson of Orkhan),
to whom, as they tell us, the work was presented. It is
thus clear that Sheykh-oghli began his poem while Germiyan
was still an independent kingdom, and finished it some time
between the eftacement of that state and the battle of
Angora. ^

The poem, according to Von Hammer's description of it,
opens in the usual way with the praises of God, the Prophet,
and the first four Khalifas; then comes the 'Reason of the
Writing of the Book' in which the author asserts that he
got his story from Arabic sources ; ' next we have the canto

' See p. 264.

2 This disposes of Von Hammer's suggestion that the Berlin MS. (trans-
cribed 807) may be the poet's autograph.

' The poem may have been translated directly from an Arabic version ;

430

in which Shah Suleyman's name occurs; and this in its turn
is followed by that in praise of Bayezid Bey the son of
Orkhan, at the end of which the author mentions his own
name as Sheykh-oghli, and prays the reader to overlook his
shortcomings. In the epilogue he calls his book the Khurshid-
Name, and says it was finished in the month of the First
Rebf, but without specifying the year; and he again names
himself Sheykh-oghli. ' The Khurshid-Name or 'Book of
Khurshid' is thus the correct name of the poem which the
historians variously entitle Ferrukh-Name and Khurshid u
Ferrukh-Shad.

The story begins with the auspicious conjunction of the
planets at the time of the royal marriage the fruit of which
was the heroine, Princess Khurshid. When this Princess grows
up, the ladies of her father's household, who are hostile to
her, seek to disparage her before her father; but she clears
herself from every charge, and so pleases the King by her
cleverness that he presents her with many gifts including
a garden, wherein she builds a pavilion. One day when she
and her governess are making an expedition into the country
to visit the tomb of an unhappy lover, they encounter a
band of young students among whom are Ferrukh-Shad the
son of the King of the Sunset-land (Maghrib) and his com-
panion Azad. These two had set out to seek Khurshid, of
whose beauty they had heard, and on their way had fallen
in with Khizr. Khurshid and Ferrukh-Shad are brought

but judging from the proper names, which are all Persian (except Bogha
Khan which is Turkish), the story appears to be of Persian orgin.

1 The compiler of the famous fifteenth century Turkish story-book gener-
ally known as ' The History of the Forty Vezirs,' a translation of which I
published in 1886, is represented in most MSvS. of his work as speaking of
himself under the same patronymic (in its Persian form) Shcykh-zade (i. e.
Sheykh-son); but as in some copies we find his name given as Ahmed-i Misri
(i. e. Ahmed the Egyptian), it is unlikely that there was any connection
between him and the poet of the Ferrukh-Ndme.

431

together and are straightway enamoured of one another.
Meanwhile Hogha Khan, the King of Cathay, sends an envoy
to Siyawush, the father of Khurshi'd, asking her hand in
marriage. This is refused, whereupon Bogha makes war upon
Siyawush, who would have been defeated but for the valour
of Ferrukh-Shad and Khurshid who penetrate into the Ca-
thayan camp and slay Bogha Khan in single combat. Ferrukh-
Shad and Azad then go back to the Sunset-land to obtain
the King's consent to the Prince's marriage with Khurshid.
This is refused and Ferrukh-Shad is thrown into prison. The
King, however, soon dies, when his son succeeds him and
is happily married to his beloved Khurshid. '

Another old romancist, one this time of whom the bio-
graphers say absolutely nothing, is a certain Miisa who used
the makhlas of '^Abdi, and who wrote a romantic mesnevi
which he called the Jamesb-Namc or 'Book of Jamesb,' and
dedicated to Sultan Murad II. In the epilogue to his poem,
a manuscript of which is in the British Museum, ^ the author
tells us that he finished his work in the spring of 833 (1430),
ha\ing begun it in the same season of the preceding year,
and that he wrote it in the town of Aydinjiq. At the close
of the dedicatory canto the poet says that he translated the
book in the Sultan's name, and that he called it the Jamesb-
Namc. lie does not tell us whence he made the translation,
or give any indication as to his sources. The poem is, however,

' Judging from the couplet quoted by '^Ashiq and reproduced on p. 256
of the present volume, the metre of the Khurshid-Namc is the hexametric
remel, the same as that of Sheykhi's Khusrev and Shirin.

* Add. 24,962. In the notice of this volume in his Catalogue of the
Turkish MSS. in the British Museum, Dr. Kieu says that in some MSS. (des-
cribed in the catalogues of other collections) a poem bearing the same title
and date, and evidently identical with the present, is ascribed to a writer
called SaMi. Hut, as he truly adds, the biographers are as silent concerning
any Sa'^di who flourished at this early time as they are concerning any "^Abdi
or MUsa.

432

nothing else than a versified rendering of the Arabian Nights
story of The Queen of the Serpents, * the only noteworthy
difference being in the preamble to the tale.

In the Turkish poem the scene is laid in Persia in the
reign of Key-Khusrev (Cyrus). The Prophet Daniel ^ has in
his possession a wonderful book describing the medicines
against every ill even to death itself. This last consists in
a concoction of certain herbs that grow on a mountain on
the other side of the river Jeyhiin (Oxus). Daniel determines
to take advantage of this knowledge and so secure for him-
self eternal life. God, however, sends the angel Gabriel to
frustate his plans. So as Daniel is crossing the narrow bridge
over the Jeyhiin in order to collect the herbs that grow on
the farther side, he is confronted by Gabriel in the shape of
a man. Daniel does not recognise him in human form, and
so when the angel asks whether he knows of a man called
Daniel in that country, the Prophet innocently answers that
he himself is that man. Gabriel then says that he believes
Daniel to have a wonderful book, and asks where it is; the
Prophet answers that it is here, and draws it from his sleeve.
The angel then asks whether he can tell him where Gabriel
is; Daniel answers that he is in Heaven; Gabriel denies this;
and after some altercation, Daniel asks to be allowed to
consult his book; and while he is doing so, Gabriel knocks
the volume out of his hand into the river, and disappears.
This so vexes Daniel that he goes home, sickens and dies,
notwithstanding that a few leaves of the precious book are
recovered. These shortly before his death he puts into a

' This story is omitted by Galland and Lane ; but it will be found in
Mr. Payne's translation, vol. v, p. 52; and in Sir R. Burton's, vol. v, p. 298.
Daniel the Prophet, as we have already seen (p. 389, n. i), is regarded in
the East as the patron of the occult sciences and their pi'actitioners. In the
Arabian Nights the name of the sage is given as Daniel, but he is desci-ibed
as being a Grecian philosopher.

433

chest, bidding his wife gi\'e them to their S(M1 w ho is about
to be born, when he shall ask for them. It is from this son
Jamesb that the poem has its name. '

From this point the story as told by the Turkish poet
differs only in unimportant details from the version in the
Arabian Nights; and as this can be read in either of the
complete translations of that collection, it is unnecessary to
present it here otherwise than in merest outline.

Jamesb, who is a useless lazy youth, is left by some treach-
erous wood-cutters to perish at the bottom of a pit; but
he finds an underground passage which leads him to a spa-
cious cavern, in which are arranged thousands of stools. He
falls asleep, and on awaking sees a serpent seated on each
stool; for this is the palace of the King of the Serpents. ^
That sovereign, who has a beautiful human head but the
body of a snake, makes Jamesb welcome. He will not, how-
ever, release him; and so to beguile his captivity, he tells
him a long story which takes up the greater part of the
book. This deals with the adventures of Bulqiya, ' a learned
and pious Jew, who lived in the pre-Muhammedan ages,
but who having heard of the future advent of Muhammed,
conceives an ardent love for that Prophet, and sets out to

' The Prophet Daniel is said in the East to have had a son called Jdmdsb
or Jiimesb. This name is ancient Persian, and was borne by the minister of
King Gushtdsb, one of the heroes of the Shah-Name. In most recensions of
the Arabian Nights the son of the Grecian sage receives the Arab name of
Hdsib Kerim-ud-Din; but in the text used by Von Hammer the original
Persian Jamasb was retained. In the Arabic characters, Jdmesb w,\.m*^U>-

does not differ much from Hasib .^-mLs* , and the one might easily be replaced
by the other.

2 In the Arabian Nights the snakc-mnnarch is called .Melikct-ul-Hayyat,
i. e. ' the Queen of the Serpents,' and in our poem, Shah-i Maran, i. c. ' the
Shdh of the Serpents.' The title Shdh may be equivalent to either 'King' or
'Queen,' but as the former is more usual, and as there is nothing in the poem
to suggest the latter, I have preferred to translate by ' King.'

' In the Arabian Nights this name is Buliiqiya.

434

seek what he may learn about him. The covirse of his wan-
derings leads him into the unknown regions that lie outside
the Habitable Quarter of the earth ' away among the isles
of the Circling Oceans and the Mountains of Qaf. ^ On one
of those islands he discovers a young man weeping beside
two stately tombs. They tell one another their respective
histories, and that told by the stranger, who is Prince Jihan-
Shah, ^ son of the King of Kabul, occupies almost the whole
of what remains of the poem. This Prince having lost his
way when hunting, wanders beyond the confines of the
known world, where he meets with a series of extraordinary
adventures, and at length finds himself in some unknown
land in a city peopled wholly by Jews. He consents to
assist one of these to collect certain precious stones that are
found on the top of an inaccessible mountain, and so is
sewn up in the belly of a slaughtered mule, seized upon by
an eagle, and borne up to the highest peak. On the bird's
alighting, Jihan-Shah comes out from his hiding-place, which
so scares the eagle that it flies away. He then throws down
many of the stones to the Jew, who thereafter refuses to
show him the way of descent, and goes off, leaving him to
perish. But he pushes on for a time, and finally comes to
a splendid palace where he meets a kind old man named
Sheykh Nasr the King of the Birds, who gives him liberty
to go where he will about the palace and the gardens, only
forbidding him to open a certain door. The denial of this
door whets Jihan-Shah's curiosity, so one day when Sheykh
Nasr is occupied with his birds, he opens it and finds him-
self in a lovely garden in the midst of which is a lake with
a fair pavilion on one side. He enters this, and after a while
three white birds like doves, but as large as eagles, alight

1 See p. 47, n. i. 2 See p. 38.

' In the Arabian Nights this name is Jan-Sh£h.

435

on the edge of the lake. These tlirow off their feathers and
become three lovely maidens who straightway enter the
water where they play and swim about. When they come
out, the Prince goes up and salutes them, and falls violently
in love with the youngest; but they don their feather-
vests and fly oft". On Shcykh Nasr's return, Jihan-Shah tells
him what has happened, and the Sheykh upbraids him with
having through his disobedience brought about his own un-
doing. He tells him that the maidens arc daughters of the
Jinn and that they come there once a year from he knows not
where; and he adds that as the Prince is so enamoured of the
youngest, he must wait till they return next year, and then,
when they are in the water, must possess himself of his
beloved's feather-vest, as without that she cannot fly away, and
thus she will remain in his power. Jihan-Shah does this, and
in this way becomes possessed of the maiden whose name is
Shemsc. They return together to Kabul ; but one day Shemse
dons her feather-vest, and crying to Jihan-Shah to come to her
at the Castle of Jewels, flies off". With the greatest difficulty
and after many^ marvellous adventures, Jihan-Shah finds his
way to the Castle of Jewels, which is the palace of Shemse's
father and lies in an unknown country of the Jinn beyond
Mount Qaf. He is well received, and he and Shemse agree
to divide their time between the courts of their respective
parents. This goes on for some years, till on one of their
journeys, when the Princess is bathing in a river she is
killed by a shark, which so distresses Jihan-Shah that he
determines never to leave that spot so long as he lives. He
therefore builds there two tombs, in one of which he buries
Shemse, while the other is destined for himself; and it is
there that Bulqiya finds him. Bulqiya then continues his
journey till he falls in with Khizr at whose bidding he closes
his eyes, on opening which he finds himself back in his home

43^

in Egypt. The King of the Serpents had refused to allow
Jamesb to leave, because he foresaw that in letting him go
he would be sealing his own doom. But at length he gives
him permission, only praying him not to enter the public
bath. For seven years after his return to the surface of earth,
Jamesb never goes into the bath; but at last he is forced
in with the result that he is recognised and compelled to
disclose the dwelling-place of the King of the Serpents,
whose flesh, it has been discovered by the Vezir who is
a magician, is the only cure for a terrible illness from which
King Cyrus is suffering. The King of the Serpents, who knows
what will happen, tells Jamesb that the Vezir will set him
to watch the pot in which the flesh is being cooked, and
will bid him drink the scum that rises first and preserve for
him that which rises second; but that in reality he must
do exactly the reverse. All this happens, and when Jamesb
drinks the second scum he sees, on raising his eyes to the
sky, the circling of the spheres and all the marvels of the
celestial phenomena, and, on lowering them to earth, he per-
ceives all the secrets of plants and minerals and terrestrial
substances, and so becomes perfect in all science. But when
the Vezir drinks the first scum, which he believes to be the
second, he straightway falls down dead. The King recovers,
and Jamesb by reason of his great knowledge is made Vezir;
and on asking for his father's legacy, he receives from his
mother the few leaves of the wonderful book that were re-
covered from the river.

The poem, which is in the metre of "^Ashiq's Gharib-Name
and the other early mesnevis, makes no pretension to being
a- work of art. It is written in the simplest possible style,
simpler even than that of Ahmedi's Iskender-Namc. In strik-
ing contrast to the contemporary poem of Sheykhi, there
is here not the slightest attempt at literary embellishment.

437

The aim of the writer has simply been to turn the long
romance into plain Turkish rhyme. But the work is interesting
through its language; very few Arabic or Persian words are
employed, while on the other hand we get many old Turkish
words and forms that have long ago become obsolete. There
are several ghazels scattered through the poem, as in the
Khusrev and Shirin of Sheykhi.

The following passage describes how Prince Jihan-Shah
got possession of his bride. The time has come when the
three sisters are due on their yearly visit to the palace,
and the Prince has just been praying that success may be
in store for him. It is hardly necessary to say that these
'daughters of the Jinn' are identical with the 'swan-maidens'
of European folk-lore and that the method of their capture
is the same in the West as in the East.

From the Jamesb-Xame. [69]

When he thus had prayed, he did his head upraise;
E'en that moment, as around he cast his gaze,
He beheld the three who thither winged their flight,
And he hid in the pavilion there forthright.
Then on the estrade again they lighted fair.
And they doffed their raimenture and sfript them bare.
'Come and let us the pavilion search,' said one,
' Let us see that hidden therewithin be none.'
Quoth another, 'Ne'er a creature cometh here;
'None is hither come, so cast aside thy fear.'
Then the youngest, ' E'en if one there hidden lay,
' On what fashion would he deal by us, I pray ?
' Which of all of us three would he seek to win ? —
'(Just supposing that a man were hid therein.)
' Both of you he'd leave, and he would seize on me,
'Hug me to his breast and kiss me merrily!'
When they heard these words they laughed together gay,
And they rose and plunged within the lake straightway.

438

Swam and dived they in the water joyously,

Playing each with other full of mirth and glee,

When the Prince from the pavilion darting, flew,

Snatched the maiden's vest, and stood there full in view.

When they looked and saw the Prince a-standing there,

Forth from out the water straightway sprang the pair, '

Snatched their vests, and fast and swift away they fled.

Gained a place, did on their clothes, and off they sped.

She whose little vest was snatched, she could not fly;

Off the others went, nor turned on her an eye.

All alone she bode within the water there.

And began to pray the Prince with many a prayer:

'Give my vest, and I'll do all thou biddest me;

■•Go I shall not, nay, I will abide with thee.

'Keep my clothes, but hither fling my vest, I pray;

'And, till I come out, withdraw a little way.

'I am thine; I swear to thee I shall not fly,

'Never shall I leave thee till the day I die.'

Prince Jihan-Shah, answering, said, ' O Soul of me,

'Thou hast melted this my body wondrously.

'Full a year it is I pine for thee alway,

' Scanning all the roads around, by night, by day.

'Lo now God hath sent thee, granting thee to me;

'(Every day to Him may lauds a thousand be!)

'God Most High hath granted me my need to gain;

'He hath made thy vest the balm to heal my pain.

' Now my master, 2 who hath tutored me with care,

' Spake on this wise : " Give not up her vest, beware !"

' Never shall I give it, having won my prize ;

'Nay, I rush not mid the fire with open eyes!'

In a Turkish chrestomathy compiled by Moriz Wicker-
hauscr, and published in Vienna in 1853, ^ occur three .short
extracts from an old Turkish metrical version of another

' i. c. the two elder sisters.

2 i. e. .Sheykh Nasr.

3 'Wegweiser zum Verstandniss der Tiirkischen Sprache,' von Moriz Wicker -
hauser, Wien, 1853.

439

Arabian Nights story, namely that of Seyf-ul-Mulk and Bcch"^-
ul-Jomal. ' The compiler says not a word as to whence he
obtained these extracts. He writes over the first: 'Taken
from Ibn-Yusufs Story of Seyf-ul-Mulk;' and that is all the
information he vouchsafes. It is possible that he did not
know who Ibn-Yusuf was (I can find no trace of any poet
so named); but he ought to have said something concerning
the manuscript from which he made his selections. The three
extracts given are sufficient to show that the story is practi-
cally the same as the Arabian Nights romance; but of course
they do not enable us to say whether the versions are iden-
tical or differ in detail. They are also sufficient to show that
the poem is in very old Turkish, and therefore probably a
work of the First Period or, at the latest, of the opening
years of the Second.

It will have been noticed that the three romances we have
just looked at are all, so far as we can judge, simply stories,
and nothing else. The tale does not appear in their case to
be presented as an allegory, or to be made the vehicle for
conveying instruction whether mystic or philosophic. And
this perhaps accounts in a measure for the neglect with which
they met. For although the illiterate Oriental dearly loves
a wonder-tale, the learned ignore, or at least used to ignore,
as altogether unworthy of their notice, as fit only to amuse
the vulgar crowd, any mere story which held no lesson beneath
its surface-meaning. Erudite scholars who prided themselves
on their learning, as did our historians and biographers, dis-
dained to notice such childish trivialities or the men who
played with them. Thus Katib Chelebi in his huge biblio-
graphic dictionary, where he gives a succint account of all

' See Lane, vol. iii, p. 308: Payne, vol. vii, p. 55: Burton, vol. vii, p. 314.
In the Arabian Nights the name of the hero is Seyf-ul-Muluk.

440

the important works in Arabic, Persian and Turkish, known
in his day, dismisses the Thousand and One Nights, in Europe
the most popular and most widely known of Muhammedan
writings, with the mere mention of its name, without a single
word of comment.

Again, as manuscripts were transcribed, not for the illiterate,
but for the learned, naturally but few copies would be made of
such books as the latter (practically the only readers of those
days) reckoned unworthy of attention. This no doubt is the
explanation of the extreme rarity of such books nowadays;
and in all probability this same neglect, born of learned ar-
rogance, has led to the total disappearance of many an old
romance.

CHAPTER X.

Concluding Remarks.

The Position at the Close of the First Period.
Eastern and Western Culture in the Middle Ages.

By the close of the First Period it was definitively deter-
mined which of the West-Turkish dialects was to be the
literary idiom of the future, and what was to be the nature
of the poetry that should be composed therein.

We have many times observed that the poets, whatever
the style in which they wrote, have up till now made use
of the dialectic forms peculiar to the province to which they
happened to belong. There has been no common centre for
the West-Turkish world; on the contrary, the capital of each
little state has been a separate and independent centre of
culture as well as of government. So long as such conditions
lasted there was no reason why a poet should cultivate any
other dialect than that of his own province. And hence has
come that provincialism, that heterogeneity of dialect, which
has led us to describe the poetry of this Period as West-
Turkish rather than as Ottoman. While the Ottoman was but
one out of several Turkish states there had been no reason
why a non-Ottoman poet should make use of the Ottoman
dialect rather than of his own. But now, when the political
predominance of the Ottoman State has been established.

442

and all the others either have been or are about to be merged
in it, the dialect of the Ottoman naturally becomes the
official language of the West-Turkish Empire, and is therefore
accepted as the standard form by the entire community. It
consequently results that poets who, had they lived some-
what earlier, would have written in the Turkish of Germiyan
or Qastamuni, now discard whatever is local in such dialects,
and assimilate their idiom to that of the Ottoman capital,
henceforward the common metropolis. And so for the first
time there comes to be a uniformity in the language of this
literature, and West-Turkish passes into Ottoman poetry.

The nature of the Ottoman poetry into which the West-
Turkish thus now develops has likewise been determined.
This, it has been settled, is to be Persian ; it is also to be
artificial, exclusive, unpopular.

From the very beginning West-Turkish poetry had shaped
its course by that of Persia, which had stood to it as foster-
mother; but it had not always been artificial, exclusive, un-
popular. The first intention of this poetry was purely didactic;
the aim of the earliest poets was to teach spiritual truth to
their fellow-countrymen. They naturally chose the easiest
and most .direct way to accomplish this ; and so they wrote
in the vernacular, the common speech of daily life, which
every one could understand, throwing their words into simple
rhyming lines that could easily be retained in the memory.

For over a century this continued to be the rule; prac-
tically all serious literary poetry was composed in the mes-
nevi form, and written in plain, straightforward Turkish, not
very far removed from the spoken idiom, and perfectly in-
telligible even to the unlearned. During the fourteenth cen-
tury and the opening years of the fifteenth, when a man
wanted to play with poetry, or to treat poetry primarily
as an art, looking more to the style than to the matter, to

443

the manner of expression than to the thing expressed, he
avoided mesnevi, and confined himself to the lyric forms.
As the models of such writers were necessarily the artificial
lyrics of Persia, there speedily developed among the West-
Turkish lyric poets an artificial and unnatural idiom, at least
three-fourths Persian, and therefore incomprehensible to those
unacquainted with that tongue, and in marked contrast to
the language of the contemporary mesnevi.

Hut this artificial idiom bears what the blunt Turkish of
the mesnevi-writers does not, the stamp of culture. Through
its inherent beauty and the deftness of craftsmanship for
which it gives opportunity, it has always exercised a peculiar
charm over artistic and sympathetic minds brought within
its influence; and so when Sheykhi, writing under the im-
mediate inspiration of Nizami, introduced it into mesnevi
likewise, the fate of the old homely Turkish was sealed.
Till this poet wrote his Khusrev and Shirin the distinction
of style between mesnevi and lyric poetry had been strictly
maintained ; we have only to recollect how Ahmedi, Sheykhi's
immediate predecessor, employs in his mesnevi, the Iskender-
Name, a style so simple that it often degenerates into bald-
ness, while in his lyrics his language is to the full as artificial
as that of any poet of the First Period. But after Sheykhi
wrote, the distinction disappears; subsequent poets, writers
of mesnevi as much as writers of lyrics, fascinated by the
brilliance of the artificial idiom, seek to try their strength
therein, disdaining the common speech as beneath the dignity
of art; and so in the Ottoman poetry into which the West-
Turkish now passes, we find that the divorce is everywhere
complete between the idiom in which it finds expression
and the language as spoken among the people.

Sheykhi and the lyric writers have not only determined
what is to be the form and fashion of Ottoman poetry; they

444

have struck what is to be the key-note of its strain. The
first poets were frankly teachers; they delivered their message
in such a way that no one could doubt their meaning; their
words present no tangle of Divine and human love. ButSheykhi
and the lyric writers speak in metaphors; they are always
hovering on the border-hne between the sensual and the
spiritual; their ostensible subject is human love, but through
and beyond this, giving to it what it has of life and beauty, is
ever felt to be the Celestial Glory, the Ecstasy of the Divine.
And so in the Ottoman poetry now about to be, while we
shall find that the artlessness and candour of the early poets
has passed away with their simple homely speech, we shall
recognise a Sheykhi in every romancist, an Ahmedi in every
lyric.

In concluding our review of the First Period of West-
Turkish poetry, I would very briefly draw the reader's
attention to an aspect of the subject which he has most
probably himself more .than once observed, but concerning
which I have so far said nothing, namely, the close similarity
that exists between the intellectual and moral culture which I
have endeavoured to describe and that which prevailed during
the same centuries in Western Europe.

In the fields of philosophy and science there is not merely
similarity, there is identity. And in those directions where
there is not identity, there is a very remarkable analogy.
The civilisation of the Muhammedan East is based upon
the Arabic Koran, that of medieval Europe upon the Latin
Bible. The Eastern poets had the monopoly in the histories
and legends they inherited from the ancient Persians, the
Western in those they learned from the Roman classics.
These are the two chief sources of such difference as exists,
and the analogy in both cases is complete.

445

The first is the more important of the two; but oven
here, as the points of agreement between Bible and Koran
are greater and more numerous than the points of variance,
the divergence in culture that hence resulted was superficial
rather than essential. ' F^or tiie rest, the religion of 'the
men of heart' was the same in East and West. Change a
few names and phrases borrowed directly from the prevailing
positive religion, and it would be hard to distinguish between
the effusions of the dervish mystic and those of the ecstatic
monk or nun.

The identity in philosophy and science (which latter was
but a branch of philosophy) results from the fact that not
only were the original sources the same for both East and
West, but that a great number of the European treatises
on these subjects were translated from or inspired by the
works of Muhammedans or of Jews who wrote for the most
part in the Arabic language. For Arabic was to the world
of Islam what Latin was to Western Christendom. The
language of Holy Writ, a knowledge of it was the first
necessity for the Muslim, whatever might be his nationality,
who aspired to become a man of learning. Arabic thus
became the common language of all the learned throughout
the iSIuhammcdan world, and so it came to be the language
of learning, and in it were composed all works dealing with
any serious subject, whether religious, philosophic or scientific.
In all this it is paralleled by the course of the Latin language
in the West. And as in the West the French tongue
gradually asserted itself and became a medium of literature, so

' What most sharply distinguished the West from the East was not the
diflference between Bible and Koran, but the elaborate ritual which the Papal
church superimposed upon a simple Eastern religion, and the extravagant
pretensions advanced by the Romish priesthood, from any analogy to which
Islam has happily been ever free. These matters, however, affected social life
rather than intellectual culture.

446

in the East did the Persian after a time assert itself and
develop into a literary speech; and as the rise of French
literature was in due course followed by that of English,
so was the development of Persian literature by the appearance
of Turkish.

In conditions so similar, culture and civilisation naturally
developed along parallel lines. And so we find the poetry
of the medieval West to be inspired by the same ideals as
that of the medieval East. Notably is this the case with the
poetry of Provence; instant in the quest of subtleties of
fancy and curiosities of language, ever flitting between the
earthly and the Heavenly love, the Troubadours and those
who learned from them in Italy and France were moved
by a spirit in no wise different from that which spoke through
the Persian and Turkish lyric poets. Likewise, the romancists of
the West, allegorising through thousands of rhyming couplets,
are the faithful representatives of those Eastern writers of
whom Nizami and Sheykhi may stand as types.

Were it not beside our purpose, it would be easy to trace
this similarity in detail, and interesting to inquire how far
the West is here the debtor of the East. However the question
just suggested might be answered, one point is certain,
namely, that from whatever source medieval Europe received
these matters she held in common with the East, she did
not learn them from her Roman teachers.

All that concerns us in our present studies is that this
parallelism in culture between East and West continued all
through the fourteenth and through the greater part of the
fifteenth century. It was not interrupted till the Renaissance
diverted the whole current of intellectual and moral life in
Europe. But the separation which then ensued was complete
as it was sudden. Under the guidance of the new-found
Hellenism, the West turned aside from the old road, and

447

pursued a way which led in a new and very different direc-
tion. The East continued to follow the old path; and so
by the sixteenth century, they who had for long been fellow-
travellers along the same road, were to one another as aliens
ami barbarians. Up till then, though they had met most
often as foemen, they had understood one another; but when
Europe broke away, the mutual understanding ceased. The
genius of the Middle Age and the genius of the Renaissance
are so opposite that mutual comprehension seems impossible.
In the West the latter killed the former; but into the East
it could not pass. And so to this day the typical European
and the typical Oriental never truly understand one another;
for in the East, at least in the unsophisticated East, it is
still the ]\Iiddle Age.

End of Vol. I.

APPENDIX.

F^irst linos of the Turkish Text of the Poems translated
in Volume I.

r^ 0^3-^ o^5a5' 2^ r^ o^-^ "^^^ 3 ^^ HI
^^o j^^ yj *iJt J3I ^ ^/ [I.]

^j)^.;.:^' xK>o >i)jj JjtJ ^^y^ tiUj' [li^J

452

^y ^^AA^ ^L^.jp ^^L:^ ^i [lo]

^j^LXj Uj^bo Lo^lJCi [Ia]

'S^ a^L iAx3 iJ.J^j ^^jy' '^y. ['''5]

.O^iUfl *.iL>ii.c *«^.J3 o^^ ^^^^ U^]

^O J^t^jO *i)5^.is?-^2 j.<^ U> [rA]

yi>^;i u-»j.5> »oL-Oi3 qJ^:^aa« [t*^.]

^3^ qL J {^_^^ oi^lc i;^*:? [i*'o]

j^^io' lA*^ oy"^^ *''^'*' t*^"^!

^to^Jt ^UL> ^L> ^t ^o^t [t-A]

453

k-^ ^jr- ^«^="'^ o^' rj^ L^'

^ij^.^ ^cA>ji ^JCjy=^ Gy J5I [fr

Las i^' s^'vAJo j^1*m j»^ oJ^.' [l^f"

.O5I qLjJ qL> 8jc*£ ^i)JL4J> .0 -fci^' A^ [^^

,_^J ^Ji eV->>0 ^! jJL'I ^;;^ yJU 'iljtri. t_5^ [=5>5

y^, ^j j.'j'o ^ 8-^. J^ j«^ii-Lto p'

-allj/o oi-> -sAjwi; -? ^-ciKAi.v^ [li'

454

l5*^^>^ i^iAiyJ Q^ ^^-t^ '^Tv^'"' o'^ -^^ t''^^
(jiL ^_50^l\Ji5 v*-M JL=>U/o ^ [11]

r\>

3on

rf '•• ,■:• ' '^t!.

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